


Despicable

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirage, an Alpha-mech and notorious philanderer, decides soon after the Autobots arrive on Earth that he'll have two lovers - Hound and Cliffjumper - for different types of 'satisfaction.' It's unfortunate CJ's besotted and Hound has a partner but .... whoever let others stand in the way of fun? At the same time, Mirage carries on his own not strictly Autobot agenda.</p><p>*WARNINGS* for sticky smut, stalking, masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex and Mirage being an aft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

Mirage hovered above the minibot and stroked his cheek, loving the look of pure wanting on Cliffjumper’s face. His spike grazed the entrance to the minobot’s valve and the tip buzzed pleasantly. Cliffjumper shuddered, making noises of need, reaching up for him, but he pulled back and remained tantalisingly out of reach. “Oh Primus ... please ...” said the minibot, arching his body up so it would make contact with the spike again.

Mirage did not lower his body, but he leaned down and kissed him slowly, pushing his mouth gently with his own and gently biting his lip components. He felt hands grab his arms and dig in with need as the minibot wriggled and moaned, heat rising off him, desperate for the contact. Mirage ran his tongue slowly around the inside of his mouth before allowing it to intertwine with the minibot’s, leaning on his elbows and taking Cliffjumper’s face in his hands and kissing him deeply and quite aggressively.

As he tasted the minibot deeply, feeling the heat rising from him, he concluded that, as usual, he  wanted to frag the minibot rather badly. His long, slender spike was fully extended and very hard, and it throbbed in anticipation. He wanted to go inside him and to feel the nice tight recess close around him, to feel the intense burst of arousal as he gently rubbed against the multitude of pleasure nodes which the minibot seemed to have. His tongue probed deeper, a renewed moan of need from his subject making him want him more. Oh yes – he would be inside him soon.

Energy billowed up through Mirage’s circuits as he thought of how the nodes would quiver and how the plate at the end of the minibot’s valve which led to his replication circuitry would glow hot, even though the pathway had been severed.  Best of all was the way the minibot’s own spike invariably came out and stuck hard in his abdomen, throbbing and leaking transmech fluid as he pushed into him. Oh yes. He liked fucking Cliffjumper.

Mirage broke from the kiss and stared sensuously at the minibot, who shuttered his optics and moaned loudly, arching up. Sitting back on his heels, his thighs either side of Cliffjumper’s, Mirage reached forward and ran his hands gently down his neck, the smooth metal of his chest plates and teased down the seams, luxuriating in the way the minibot’s chest heaved with rapidly cycling intakes and quivered at the touch. He moved his hands slowly down, down, taking in Cliffjumper’s pleading optics and seeing his spike extend, all smooth, dark, compact  metal. Delighted, he ran a hand lightly down the length of it.  Cliffjumper moaned and, forcing his legs apart, grabbed Mirage’s other hand, shoving it down in between his legs and to the entrance to his valve.

Mirage felt the dampness of fluid oozing from the minibot’s spike on one hand, and felt around the moist valve entrance with the other, feeling a wave of heat and tingles and his own spike stiffening further as his sensors registered just how lubricated the valve was. Delighted, he allowed himself a low growl in anticipation of what was coming.  The minibot generally overloaded in sequence. Spike then valve then spike then valve etcetera. But with the state of both his interface apparatus, Mirage was certain he could induce a double overload tonight. His own spike stiffened, tingling. The last time that had happened it had turned him on enough to offline.

The minibot’s hips were trying to buck but Mirage still had his thighs pinned. A small hand appeared and grabbed hold of Mirage’s spike and began to massage it rigorously as though willing it to be inside. Mirage put one hand over the minibot’s and massaged with him, removing his other hand from the minibot’s valve and closing it around Cliffjumper’s own extension and pumping in unison. The minibot felt down and with his other hand took up feverishly massaging the rim of his valve where Mirage had left off.

They continued as such for a few moments, allowing the mutual energy to build up, the only sounds within the small room being those of very heavy breathing and soft metal rustlings and scrapings, joined with the whir of their fans and increasingly intense moans of pleasure as they drove each other further into buildup.

Mirage shuttered his optics, liking the feel of the minibot’s spike as it hardened further alongside his own hardness, excited as he imagined the look on Cliffjumper’s face and the gush of fluids when he released. He let go of the minibot’s hand on his own spike and, knocking Cliffjumper’s other hand gently out of the way, felt down again and deep into his valve, aware of the fingers gripping his own spike. Imagining himself inside, he probed into the far reaches, feeling the nodes prime and gush fluids. Heat washed through him and he ground his hips in anticipation.

And now the buildup began to peak sharply with the sudden intensity which would lead to overload if the situation continued unchecked. Mirage stopped and removed his hands from both of the minibot’s components and gently prised Cliffjumper’s fingers away from his own spike.

 _“Oh Mirage don’t stop!”_ the minibot’s voice was frantic, his plates gritted, his intakes sounding in thick, lust ladened rasps, his optics wide. He felt around for Mirage’s hands, spike, _anything_ again and tried to push his hips up. More fluid oozed from the tip of his own spike.

Mirage took hold of the minibot’s wrists firmly, ignoring the feeble struggle which ensued and was soon abandoned, and sat back on his heels, thighs apart, gazing seductively into his optics.  His spike rested lightly on the minibot, throbbing. “I’m not stopping,” he whispered. “It’s just that I want to be fucking you when we overload.” His face contorting, the minibot let out an almighty moan and, struggled afresh,  thrusting his hips up frantically.

Taking both of Cliffjumper’s wrists in one hand and sitting up a little more, Mirage took his spike in his free hand, widened his thighs and started to tickle the entrance to Cliffjumper’s valve with the tip, shuttering his optics when a swathe of lubricant gushed, making the tip fizzle. Wriggling into position, he pushed the spike in a short way.  The minibot jerked and strained upwards and fought to get his wrists free. “Fuck me, _please_...” he whispered.

Every circuit in Mirage tingled with electric excitement. “Hold your spike!” he said, releasing Cliffjumper’s hands, his voice thick and raspy. His lover complied, gasping. Mirage paused for a moment, intaking deeply. Then, with a deep moan, he thrust his hips forward and allowed his spike to slide deep into the soaking, pulsing valve, arching hard and throwing his head back.

Oh Primus, howled Cliffjumper, as every pleasure node screamed in unison. Pushing upwards, he thrust his hips so as to be filled to capacity. One hand reached down and feverishly clutched the side of the berth, the other was still clamped around his spike.  “Oh - that’s – beautiful” he stuttered. “Mirage fuck me, _please_ , fuck me hard ...”

Mirage placed his free hand it on the berth behind him,  and, leaning on it, using the leverage to push forward harder, the other hand still grasping the base of his spike. He paused for a moment, spreading his thighs and straining, feeling heat wash through him, enjoying Cliffjumper’s frantic need and the desperate contractions of his valve. Then, removing his hand from his spike, he came forward and placed his hands on either side of the minibot’s shoulders, propping himself up. Lifting up his body, he used first one knee and then the other to prise the minibot’s legs apart,  his spike hovering in the valve.  “Wrap yourself around me!” he whispered.

Moaning and shaking, his optics wild with anticipation, Cliffjumper complied. Mirage felt the minibot’s valve contract hungrily and, glancing down, saw his dark metal spike poking out rigid. A small scatter of sparks issued from the tip. “Please,” croaked the minibot, unshuttering his optics and regarding his lover with desperation. His frame gave a violent shudder of need.

From his vantage point above the minibot and inside him,  Mirage controlled his excitement and composed himself. He was very, very turned on and he could easily just let go and allowed himself to thrust madly and overload in about four or five strokes. But he wanted it to last longer. _Much_ longer. Wanted to ram the minibot hard for at least a hundred strokes, to feel things build to screaming pitch before the minibot’s exquisite double overload. Then he would allow mech fluid and lubricant to spurt everywhere in one glorious Primus almighty mess before he allowed himself the luxury of release.

The minibot’s hands were against his chest, squeezing, exploring.  His legs clamped around Mirage, his heels scraping the back of his thighs.  Mirage no longer wished to wait. Positioning his hands in just the right spot  on either side of Cliffjumper’s shoulders, he pushed himself up on them, drew back slightly, paused momentarily, and then slammed in hard, energy exploding as the tip of his spike crackled against the replication plate and the shaft ripped against the nodes.

The minibot screamed and Mirage, taken by surprise at the intensity of the sensation cried out himself in a rare moment of abandonment.  For a few moments he hovered there, his arousal so great as to be verging on painful. “Oh Cliffjumper,” he rasped in a tortured whisper, “you feel amazing ...”  and he meant it.” The minibot bucked underneath him. “Will you Fuck me, _for Primus sake!”_  he screeched.

Mirage could not have stopped himself from doing just that if he wanted to. With another cry he  thrust forward, withdrew, and then slammed in again, and then again, and again, and again, until he set up a steady rhythm. He felt fluid gush, the valve clamp rhythmically, and the hardness of the Minibot’s own spike sticking into his pelvic plating. “Hold your spike as I fuck you,” he gasped as the thrusts took over and he surrendered himself to them, the urgent need for release taking over. Every circuit on fire, he thrust harder and harder, his strokes becoming faster and more frenetic. He was conscious of the minibot’s hand moving feverishly on his own spike as his hips bucked up in time to the thrusts.

The energy was building in them both. Mirage could feel it, and he wanted release now, badly. Need and necessity drove him on faster and harder, the clank and screech of metal striking metal mingling with the sounds of intakes heaving feverishly and fans racing out of control. The berth rocked violently beneath the frenetic activity, something fell and crashed to the floor The pungeant smell of mech fluid and ozone burst forth as Cliffjumper cried out in furious need and Mirage cried out himself,  racing onward and onward and closer and closer to ecstatic overload.

Then, it was happening. For both of them. Cliffjumper’s intakes degenerated into short sharp gasps and he emitted little high pitched squeaks of ecstasy as all the nodes reached maximum stimulation point. _“Come on, that’s it, do it for me_ ” rasped Mirage as his circuits began to spasm and his spike went super-rigid in the final moments. Then Cliffjumper was screaming and clutching wildly and his valve was contracting violently and lubricant was flowing liberally around his spike. At the same time, Mirage felt searing hot fluid scorch all up and down his front as transmech fluid from the minibot’s own spike came spurting out in three or four forceful showers.

That did it. A violent spasm rocked the Alphamech’s body. “Oh _yes,”_ he roared, throwing his head back and arching up, energy rising like a roaring tide. He gathered himself, systems screaming, and with one final massive thrust, exploded, mech fluid jetting out of his spike and slamming hard into Cliffjumper, hammering against the replication chamber panel and flooding back out of the minibot’s valve, surrounding his spike in a torrent of mixed smexual fluids.

He squirted four or five times, massive spasms jerking his entire frame as he filled the minobot, the energy field exploding up and all around in a blinding screen of piercing white light and Cliffjumper shuddered, whimpering, and offlined underneath him. Heaving, the Universe a haze, Mirage collapsed on top of him.

********

Later, they lay together, the minibot coiled around him, only vaguely online, muttering unintelligible words which Mirage knew were about love and the minibot not being able to do without him and how he could never leave. Mirage didn’t mind, although he was pleased he could not hear it. He liked having Cliffjumper around and after the spectacular overloads it was nice to have his warm little frame here like this, but it would not, of course, quite logically, continue if Cliffjumper became too dependent - or if something with greater titillation value occupied his time.

Not that the Tracker was going to have this effect. For, even though Mirage would be fucking him soon too, that would be strictly to fulfil the need for Mirage’s own valve overloads which Cliffjumper, being a minibot, was not quite able to achieve the way the Tracker with his obviously spectacular tackle would do.

Stroking Cliffjumper’s helm softly, Mirage mused, with considerable satisfaction, how splendidly the Tracker would be filling him soon, although he did not allow himself any arousal in that regard for now. _One to fuck and one to be fucked by_ , he pondered, happily.  A perfect combination. Between them, they would fulfill all his needs. The Ark was a much better place than it had been a few weeks ago.

But, he thought, wrapping himself around Cliffjumper, he would continue to cuddle this one in between and after the fucking for the time being. He rather liked him, the Alphamech admitted. He was awfully sweet and very adoring. Hopefully he would keep his emotions at bay. Besides, the Tracker had a bondmate – to whom he would undoubtedly wish to return when he was done with Mirage after similar sessions.

The minibot coiled himself round him lovingly and Mirage drew him in, planting a kiss on his helm. _Perfect,_ he murmured as he shuttered his optics and settled himself comfortably, preparing to offline.  In a few breems Cliffjumper would be online, and there would be the familiar tingling of circuits and it would all happen again. In the meantime, he would allow himself some well deserved slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage and Hound lust after each other, but with very different thoughts in their heads. Meanwhile Cliffjumper is besotted, Trailbreaker is disappointed, Hound is guilty and Mirage has no scruples.

The racer was fragging the minibot. That much was obvious. Seated together on the rec room couch, a slender blue arm was draped around the minibot's shoulders, and he wore a self satisfied look of 'getting it.' Yes - as long fingers roved subtly over the red panels whilst the racer talked to the twins, Cliffjumper oozed wanton adoration. It had gotten more so since his 'rescue' at the dam.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were, of course, focused on Mirage, their attractions equally obvious. So they did not see that every now and then, the red frame shuddered. And Cliffjumper kept glancing up, equally unable to keep his starry optics off Mirage's face.

Hound tore his optics away and took a gulp of his cube. He could not really blame the racer. Cliffjumper was somewhat – 'talented.' Once, on a tour of duty where Hound had been away from Trailbreaker for longer than he cared without an overload, Cliffjumper had relieved his frustrations. And the minibot was good. Damned good! Would do anything and have anything done. No doubt, the racer was getting and doing plenty.

Charge simmered in Hound, his relays tingling as he was unable to stop from pondering that. He wondered whether the minibot took the racer's spike, or vice versa, or whether they gave it to each other. He imagined the racer had a long, slender spike, maybe even in blue and white like the rest of him. And he would have a splendidly crafted, tight, highly responsive deep valve - as did all Alpha castes ….

Damn! Heat seared through Hound's circuits, coming to a focus in his interface recess as his spike began to pressurize. Uncomfortable, he shifted his stance, dipping his head and taking another sip, forcing himself to not look in the direction of the couch.

There was a soft touch on his cheek and a gentle hand brushed it. He looked up and into the loving optics of his bondmate, unvizored in the soft interior lights. Trailbreaker smiled that smile of complete devotion. "You had an Earth fly on you, sweet," he said. "Obviously has a distinct partiality to green Cybertronian metal. ..." he leaned close. "And excellent taste, if I may say so."

Attempting a smile, Hound dropped his head, feeling heavy in his spark. He wished he did not want the racer so much. It was wrong, he knew. Oh yes - so wrong to want to kiss him and explore every inch of him; even more wrong to imagine him stretched out before him and most definitely, completely wrong to imagine Mirage squirming as Hound's spike pounded his valve.

Wrong, wrong, wrong! Hound shuttered his optics. The one he should be wanting was this wonderful mechanism here beside him. The one who had stood by him through thick and thin, been 'there' for eons. Not some flighty upper caste who could have whoever he wanted, who would like as not choose whoever took his fancy if another set of 'facing gear proved more titillating.

The tinkle of minibot laughter floated across from the couch. Evidently, Cliffjumper was exceedingly titillating. Hound frowned. Maybe he should exercise some mental discipline, and put more effort into his bond.

He looked up. "I think we should turn in early," he said. "We've got a busy one tomorrow."

Trailbreaker leaned over and kissed his helm, the familiar lips lingering. "Sure!" he murmured.

Nevertheless, as they moved to the doorway, Hound was only too aware of his half pressurized spike and his loins throbbing as the racer's optics tracked him. Trailbreaker glanced back and there was, to Hound's dismay, no mistaking the disappointment on the blue mech's faceplates before he strode off down the corridor.

Gritting his denta, Hound strode purposefully after.

...

The tracker's optics were upon him, and Mirage knew what he wanted. How many times had Mirage seen that look? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands?

The big blue lumbering mech who was the Tracker's bondmate touched the Tracker's arm and he turned away, but not before the bondmate shot Mirage a baleful glance of his own. The bondmate also knew what the Tracker wanted. Mirage had seen that look on bondmate's faces on at least as many occasions.

/Mnnnn …. Don't wanna wait too much longer …./ The minibot was snuggling next to him, all red energy, a seductive grin on his faceplates. He radiated impatience, his panels hot with need. Mirage slid a hand over the compact little body and thought of the smooth, snugly fitting valve which pulsed and squirted fluids liberally as he fucked him. His interface relays stirred.

/Yes,/ he commed back, kissing the top of Cliffjumper's helm. /I don't want to wait either. We won't be long./

The Lamborghini twins stirred opposite and also made some comment via comm. Mirage could imagine what it was. But he was not interested. Instead, his optics followed the tracker as he shifted stiffly, an obvious manifestation of need for interface and overload. Mirage took in the swarthy bulk, the confidence, the rugged good looks, the obvious combat readiness and – last but by no means least – the extremely adequate codpiece.

Offlining his optics just for a second, the racer allowed the charge which had been building as a result of Hound's obvious lust coupled with the proximity of the hot panelled minibot to ripple around his circuits. As he had said – one to spike, and one to be spiked by. And he was going to have Hound's spike. Oh yes, the tracker's large green throbbing, fat spike – as it surely must be – was definitely going to stretch and probe his valve.

Pleasure fritzed across Mirage's sensor net. As the charge reached his valve it widened, lubricant prickling the nodes. A small scatter of energy radiated over the minibot, who shuddered happily.

Mirage onlined his optics to see Sideswipe grinning cheesily, whilst Sunstreaker's optics had turned a wanton shade of indigo. The spy was amused. Another one he could have! One who also had – allegedly – more than his fair share of metal up front and liked ramming it hard.

For a moment, the racer contemplated this possibility. It could be a kind of 'warm up.' But no – the golden warrior was altogether too – well goldenwarriorish. All good looks and smexuality, but no class. Whereas the tracker? Oh yes - Hound had plenty of that.

/Mirage…..frag I want you!/ A whiney, less than amused note had crept into the minibot's voice. Giving Cliffjumper a squeeze, Mirage leaned forward and picked up his drink, a convenient means of hiding that he glanced again across the room. Hound glanced back, and the reaction in Mirage's valve told him that oh yes, the tracker was well worth waiting for.

And now, Hound was leaving - to the obvious relief of the bond-mate, who had just planted a proprietorial kiss on his helm. The tracker walked more stiffly than ever, and as he left the room he was deliberately 'not looking.' Mirage gave a little smile. Hound sure was 'wound up.' He imagined the bondmate was in for a hell of a pounding tonight – and that the tracker's mind would not be on the bondmate.

Mirage finished his drink, and then, disengaging himself from Cliffjumper, stood up, ignoring the predatory looks of both the warrior and his twin. "I think its time to call it a night," he said with a charming smile, which they returned with flashing optics.

Their 'hopefulness' amused him. He was, in a minute, going to fuck the minibot, hard and for most of the night. But an extra contingency of admirers never hurt.

And in the meantime, there was nothing like a good chase. This was only the start with Hound. By the time he had that spike, the tracker would be virtually popping his codpiece, almost immobile with desire.

Mirage intended to see it was that way.

…

CAD! Thanks for reading :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, as their lust flourishes, here is 4,500 words of more or less pure smut and porn. Enjoy!
> 
> *WARNINGS*: Sticky, smutty and very NC17. Contains sticky type mech-sex, stalking, voyeurism, coarse sexual language and descriptions, and (in this chapter) masturbation and oral sex. Renewed warning for Mirage being an aft.

Hound felt Mirage's optics upon him as he left, and he tingled all over, his spike throbbing hard against its casing. Once they were outside, thoughts of the racer consumed him; he wanted to race back in and grab him, and haul him out and slam him against a wall; force open his valve cover. He wanted to drive into him, wanted to fuck him hard and mercilessly, punish him even, for daring to be so hot, for daring to tempt him away from his bondmate.

The intensity of the urges shocked Hound to the core. But the thrill was glorious! He felt powerful, dominant, every cog and relay in perfect working order. Energon surged through his conduits as charge swelled his circuits. Magnificent!

All he needed was for Mirage to feel how magnificent he was too, to writhe under him, to beg to be fucked again and again, to cry out as Hound pounded into him that this was the best frag he'd ever …

"Hound?" There was a grip on his arm. Intaking hard, Hound looked sideways and into Trailbreaker's large and sorrowful optics. Guilt almost overwhelmed him, and love for his Bondmate swept through his spark. But sexual need also rampaged, every circuit thrumming with residual energy, and the urgent need to release it.

And hell, how better to show Trailbreaker he really did love him than by doing just that? Gripping his bondmate's wrists, Hound ignored Trailbreaker's expression of surprise and shoved him against the wall, his lips closing hungrily over Trailbreaker's mouth as he forced him back, metal squealing as he ground against him.

"Hound …" Trailbreaker struggled, trying to push him away. "Don't, Breaker! Please - just enjoy it!" Hound stammered as he ground his codpiece into his bondmate's groin, his spike forced itself hard against the cover. Charge seared through him. He kissed Breaker again, sliding one hand down his bondmate's side, and then attempting to force it between his legs.

Residual charge peaked and Hound's energy field flared, crackling over Trailbreaker. He moaned, finding a brief glimmer of relief - before it escalated again.

"HOUND!" He found himself shoved forcefully back. "Don't! I don't want it like this!" Trailbreaker's optics were wide, the distress in them obvious. But Hound was desperate. He made a lunge for him again. "I gotta fuck you!" he rasped.

"No!" Trailbreaker's denta gritted. he pushed Hound away, his optics glittering coldly, hurt transforming his face into a mask which Hound hardly recognized. "You gotta fuck, yes!" he growled. _" But not me!"_

A ripple of extreme discomfort washed through Hound. The charge diminished, markedly. How _could_ he jeopardize all he held dear? A heavy sadness descended. _What was he thinking?_ And although his loins still throbbed from need to release, this was overridden by the love he would always feel, no matter what.

Hound managed to look Trailbreaker in the optic in a way he hoped truly showed how guilty he felt. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Trailbreaker softened. A hand reached out to stroke Hound's cheek. "I'll always love you, Hound," he said. "And being bonded means working through the hard times. I always knew there would be others. And I know how this is for you."

Hound's spark flared painfully; and now he felt guiltier than ever. "If you mean Mirage, he's - uh - with Cliffjumper," he stammered. "And he flirts with everyone! I mean – he's probably not even interested!"

He instantly regretted it. Trailbreaker's optics filled with tears, and he shrank away. Hound just provided the final confirmation of his ravaging desires and intentions.

"Go do what you have to!" Trailbreaker whispered. "But don't flaunt it in front of me, Hound! And don't use me to relieve your needs in the interim!"

"Breaker …" Hound moved towards him, but the blue mech held up his hands. "I'm going to bed," he said. "Don't disturb me when you come in. _If you come in._ I need some time alone."

Casting Hound one last sorrowful look, he turned and went away down the corridor, his shoulders hunching in pain.

….

Hound watched him go. His spark ached as love overwhelmed him, and for a moment he wanted to run after Trailbreaker and beg forgiveness, ask if he could pretend he'd never set optics on Mirage. But thoughts of the spy again ravaged his processor, and his circuits burned with renewed urgency, the need to unleash his passions returning with a vengeance.

Residual charge thrummed as Hound felt his transmech fluid reservoir fill to capacity. Heat radiated within, his engine tingling as coolant sprayed its inner workings. His spike strained for release – and Hound knew he could not put off the overload he so badly needed to have. His hand strayed to his heated codpiece. Rubbing it softly, he managed to release a little residual energy which crackled into his hand. But it was nowhere near the explosion and deluge he needed.

But what did he do? Go back into the rec room, cross to the couch, shove Cliffjumper aside and say "You know what I wanna do. Let's go?" Or – well – maybe not that exactly, but something more subtle; something flirtatious and suggestive, which would leave Mirage in no doubt that were he to depart to rec room, the filling of his valve in whatever way he needed it to be filled was thrillingly imminent.

Hound hardly thought that would score him points with the racer. And from the way Cliffjumper had gazed at Mirage, the minibot would hate him forever. Well – maybe if he just went back and 'hovered.' He could flirt with the twins. Or the other minibots. Maybe that would make Mirage take notice. Maybe that would even make him jealous ...

Hound realized he had no idea, whatsoever. Being bonded – and faithful – for so long, had long ago removed any 'courtship' talents he might once have had.

There was a noise behind him and the door opened. Hound turned to see Mirage emerge with the minibot. An almost uncontrollable excitement surged through him. He heated fiercely, and the scent of ozone and coolant wafted into the air. Mirage looked over, and a knowing smile appeared on the finely chiseled face. Hound's superior olfactory sensors caught the whiff of high quality alloys and expensive wax, blending exquisitely with the aroma of his own arousal.

Hastily he turned away, his circuits seething unbearably. Remembering a datapad he had in one of his arm compartments he whipped it out and pretended to be studying it. Pitiful, he knew. But it was better than – well, _just standing there._ Given that – now Mirage was at close proximity again – leaving seemed to be out of the question.

In his peripheral vision, Hound saw Mirage linger; but Cliffjumper's lack of amusement at this was obvious. "C'mon!" he said in a loud voice, in which an 'edge' was unmistakeable. They moved off, their footsteps receding down the corridor. Hound could not help himself. He turned and stared, longingly, as charge seared through him.

Mirage looked back over his shoulder, once, the 'knowing' smirk still on his faceplates, its invitation unmistakeable. It was closely followed by a glance back from the minibot every bit the equal in venom. Then they were walking away, and Cliffjumper's arm went firmly around Mirage's waist, and Mirage's arm went around Cliffjumper. Hound watched as the hand attached to the arm slid slowly on to the red aft and squeezed, making the minibot make a little 'squee' sound and waggle his hips. Then they were gone.

Hound could no longer contain himself. He leaned against the wall, his hand on his codpiece, groaning as his spike pressure seethed to new levels, painful in its hugeness as his core burned and everything channeled towards his engorged organ as the portal for release.

And release he must; but his spark ached again when he thought of his quarters, and Trailbreaker. No – he could not do this in the quarters, could not do that to his bondmate. Besides, he needed to do it somewhere wild and free where he could - make noise. And allow the contents of his fluid chamber to burst out liberally with no restraints or inhibitions.

Outside would be good. Hound thought of the cave he'd discovered on the mountain, high above the Ark. It would be perfect. Loins throbbing, the tracker strode purposefully towards the rear exit.

…..

As they walked to the minibot's quarters, Mirage could not help thinking of the wonderfully magnanimous dimensions of the tracker's codpiece. And the heat coming off the mech! Even from a distance he had felt it! And that _scent!_ Mirage knew it well: Pure guttural arousal and need to fuck until he couldn't fuck any more.

And despite the propensity of mechs - and femmes - partial to his looks and valve, Mirage couldn't remember when he'd felt such intense need from another. His energy field let out a ripple as his valve expanded and then clenched, hard.

Cliffjumper felt the ripple. His field flared in response, charge crackling out. As soon as they got to the quarters he flung himself at Mirage, pressing against him, pulling him into a kiss, his hands wandering as he ground against him, his covers opening to reveal his fat, hard spike which pressed into Mirage's middle. Mirage felt hot fluid on his thigh and knew the minibot's valve was open and ready and lubricated and waiting to be filled.

He kissed Cliffjumper back enthusiastically, feeling over his aft and into the seams between Cliffjumper's pelvic armour and his thighs. But his own spike was not hardening. Instead, Mirage's valve burned, raising painful awareness of how long it had been since it was properly filled. In fact, he'd hopelessly underestimated just how urgent the need was. His mind went to the tracker's powerful body, the chunky thighs, his valve burned again, lubricant pooling inside the cover.

He needed relief. Yet still, Mirage sensed, it was not quite time to have Hound in him. Not yet. Oh how he loved the heightened arousal from the agony of holding off! It could only give rise to the ultimate copious, glorious release.

So instead of extending his spike in response to the minibot's' open legged stance and feverish massaging of his codpiece, Mirage's attention went to the appendage stuck in his belly; nothing like the dimensions of the tracker's obviously. But it could serve a purpose all the same.

He needed it as big and ready as it could be, however.

"Mirage," Cliffjumper had broken away and was tugging him to the berth. Heat radiated from the minibot as his intakes sounded in raspy gasps. The dark red spike pointed at him.

Mirage smiled. "I think we'll do something a little different, sweetspark," he said.

…

The cold night air did not reduce Hound's body temperature, or his inner ragings, but the cool flow over his panels was a welcome relief, as was the need to abandon etiquette. As he made his way up the mountain track, Hound released his codpiece, allowing his spike to mercifully extend. It stuck out in front of him, glistening huge in the moonlight as he made his way, intaking raspingly.

Mirage swept into his thoughts, and everything surged again. Hound gasped. Pausing, he grasped hold of the massive appendage. Thoughts of the slick, deep, beautifully crafted valve pounded through his processor and he whimpered. Opening his legs, he ran his hand up and down the shaft a few times, thighs tautening at the sudden intense pleasure. Sparks flew into his hand and he moaned as his chamber pressure rose and fluid leaked form his spiketip.

Unable to hold back, Hound threw his head back and allowed his hand to coast up and down as the spike swelled even huger. Relays clicked and his engine revved as coolant washed through it. Relief leaped over every synapse as Hound's charge swelled, his systems gearing rapidly for overload.

 _Ooohhh_ yes! And he wanted to overload so badly. Yet, discomfort tugged at his processor. Below, the lights of the Ark twinkled through the thin trees, a glow before the moonlight desert vista which stretched away from the mountain. Above, the path glistened through the rocks until it wound out of sight, every shrub and bush outlined in the clear air.

There was a squawk. Hound jumped, his arousal arrested as an Earth bird arose from the low shrubbery and flapped off into the night. He was suddenly ashamed. This was almost - _public!_ What if other Autobots wandered up from the Ark? Or – Hound could hardly bear the thought - what if Trailbreaker, unable to recharge in the in the agony of Hound's treachery, decided to take a night stroll, to calm his tortured spark?

No, Hound could not bear that. Even the possibility was out of the question; he needed the cave. The cave was sanctuary, a cool, secluded haven where his passions would have full release, safe and without fear of discovery. Repressing his needs just for one little last while longer, Hound let go of his spike and started away up the final stretch.

…..

"Frag!" Cliffjumper screamed. "Frag! Awww …. _pit!_ " His hips thrust up, as he tried to get as much of his spike into Mirage's mouth as he could. But Mirage drew back, kneeling on the berth and looking down at him reproachfully.

"I said keep still, Cliffjumper," he said smoothly. "It will be the better for waiting, I'm telling you!"

"Oh frag, can't wait, gotta come …." The minibot panted, his spike sticking upright. Mirage held it by the base and watched as it pulsed gently three or four times, residual energy crackling forth as a small spurt of fluid erupted from the tip.

"More" wailed Cliffjumper, thrusting his hips up. "Properly. I gotta squirt – properly!" Tight balled fists gripped the berth on either side of his aft.

"Soon!" said Mirage. With the other hand, he stroked the inside of Cliffjumper's thighs, which widened and quivered as the minibot thrust up again.

"Awwwww …. PIT!" Cliffjumper began to shake, his swollen spike straining up at Mirage. But Mirage did nothing, letting the minibot's systems reconfigure, the charge re-set before he moved his hand and brought him to another mini peak. Cliffjumper whimpered, fluid spraying over Mirage's slender fingers. Mirage smiled. Cliffjumper would explode hugely in a little while. Then he'd be bursting with gratitude for the most exquisite buildup of his life.

The minibot's panels were glowing with heat and charge; Mirage could hear the energon circulating madly in his conduits with an audible hum. The racer leaned down, still holding the spike as he resumed rolling his tongue slowly around it. Cliffjumper tensed, intakes hitching; then his breath came in sharp little gasps. Throwing his head back, he cried out as he started to peak.

The spike grew hotter, and it throbbed in Mirage's mouth, bulging with need of release. Mirage's valve clenched and unclenched, the special sensor ring just below the entrance burning in anticipation. Excellent – the whole thing was reconfiguring nicely, clenching and narrowing it to so the minibot would fill and then nicely overload him. Such a nice touch in Alpha caste design was the reconfigurable interface anatomy. That, and the sensor ring.

Mirage smiled inwardly. This careful preparation of Cliffjumper's spike whilst the valve configuration completed, the holding of Cliffjumper's charge right on the edge until Mirage was ready for the closest thing he could get to having the tracker pound him – it was very nice indeed.

Mirage ran his tongue around the nodes, which sparked, Cliffjumper's hips jerking up as little spurts of fluid filled his mouth. It was pleasant; sweet tasting – another minibot idiosyncrasy. Cliffjumper was - Mirage concluded again - marvelously full of surprises. He would certainly keep him around, once he was fucking Hound.

The minibot was rigid with need. More fluid spurted into Mirage's mouth. His valve clenched hungrily. _Frag!_ he muttered, heating fiercely as his own climax approached sooner than he'd intended.

Cliffjumper felt the shift. His hands clawed at Mirage's shoulders, and now the minibot's valve opened, as all his systems aligned. Mirage's own intakes hissed noisily as his hand moved to the glistening orifice. He ran a finger around the rim. Cliffjumper screamed and thrust up, pushing the spike deeper into his mouth.

Mirage felt his own spike stir; he considered bringing Cliffjumper to a spike overload like this, and finger fucking his valve at the same time. Cliffjumper's explosive double overloads were, after all, spectacular. But the minibot's spike gave another violent surge, and Mirage's valve widened, fluid washing out of it as it clenched hard again. Mirage put 'oral sex plus finger fucking' in his recall circuitry as something for another time. Right now, his valve needed the fat red spike.

Mirage withdrew, ignoring Cliffjumper's curses. Moving up the berth, he leaned over the minibot so that the spike grazed his chest, making a sticky little pool of congealing fluid against his nosecone. Stroking Cliffjumper's face, he smiled. "I'm sure you'd rather fuck me than come in my mouth, wouldn't you?" he said.

The minibot whimpered, his optics pools of lust. "Yeah!" he wailed. "Just as long as I do something. Else I'm gonna explode!"

Mirage got up off Cliffjumper and got on to all fours beside him, aware that Cliffjumper was sitting up, and seemed momentarily puzzled. "From behind," Mirage said, maneuvering and opening his thighs. "And I want it hard and fast, and as far in as it'll go. Don't hold back, Cliffjumper!"

The minibot's words were barely decipherable. "You got it!" He rasped, scrambling into position.

…..

The cave was cool and damp, secluded behind the rock overhang, the entrance festooned with creepers. A beautiful spot, comforting and enclosing, the best possible place to think of something as beautiful as Mirage's valve. Which it was, undoubtedly. As beautiful as Mirage himself ….

Now he was finally here, Hound went weak with longing, as every facet of the lithe blue and white form careened in. He could almost feel the smooth panels; hear the revving of the finely tuned, high performance engine. He imagined the azure optics shining from the exquisitely chiseled face under the crested helm, saw the lithe form, the long legs, the alluring aft.

Hound put one hand out to lean against the wall, as more images bombarded his processor. There was that nosecone; and the slim waist; and that little windscreen at his back, a tempting array of finely tuned controls just underneath ….

His charge soared - and there was no holding back now. Hound grasped his spike, throbbing, huge and swollen. The pleasure was instant, exquisite, and Hound almost swooned in gratitude for the forthcoming relief he'd needed all night. Opening his legs and thrusting his hops forward, he moaned loudly, as he began to pleasure himself with firm strokes.

Moans turned to a groan of satisfaction. It just felt _sooo_ good. Oh frag I needed this. Hound realized it wasn't just Mirage, that he'd needed an episode of pure indulgence for a while.

Widening his stance, he tightened his grip and thrust into his hand in time with the strokes. Ecstatic sensations flowed as his circuits engorged with charge, spike nodes crackling against his hand. "Oh frag YEAH!" Hound yelled out loud, pumping and thrusting harder.

As the sanctuary of the cave closed around him, Hound's mind went wild. Mirage was bent in front of him, his valve open, glistening wet and inviting. As his hand worked feverishly, Hound imagined pulling the well shaped thighs apart and thrusting into it. Then with a small, strangled cry, he stopped pumping and thrust his hips forward, his hand traveling the length of his spike as he imagined the valve clenching down, the nodes sparking and hissing as he thrust it in deep, deep, deeper ….

It was exquisite; almost real, almost happening! Hound imagined his spike encased in Mirage's valve, the tip probing the end, as current scintillated up his shaft. His core shuddered and he strained into his hand, groaning. And then Mirage's quivering aft was in front of him, the valve clamping down hard, wet and wanting; and Mirage was shoving back on to the spike, his hands clawing at the rock, and he was screaming at Hound to fuck him hard, fast, senseless, and to not stop until they both offlined.

Hound obliged the imaginary racer. With deep throaty grunts he began to pump, fast, thrusting at the same time. The cave filled with the loud echoes of his passion, mingled with the squeal of metal; ozone thickened the air, his energy field flaring out crackling static as the tempo of his spike rhythm went up and up and up ...

" _Oooohh_ yeah ….. " Energon sang in Hound's conduits, heat bursting form his core. He felt magnificent, perfect, the spike in his hand a throbbing manifestation of his mechliness. Hound drove into his hand, into the valve, as his spike hardened beyond what he thought possible, his reservoir overflowing and fluid leaking unrestrained, as his charge peaked, higher, higher, his circuits bursting and fit to explode ...

 _"Oh yes, yes, YES!"_ Hound pounded even harder. And then the crest of overload was there, eluding him, rising higher, higher. He pumped harder, faster, as the dark of the cave closed around and static sang in his audios. He was nearly there, so nearly there, _oh yes,_ pump, pump, one last push …. _please …._

Hound imagined Mirage there with him on the crest, about to go over, the valve wide and wet and ready to clamp. He imagined Mirage squirming, thrusting back, his aft quivering as his end node burned in anticipation; up and up and up, oh yes, yes, YES!"

Hound let out an anguished wail as he finally came to the peak, hovering in that zone of agonized ecstasy as he though one last time of the blue and white aft, the clenching, sparking valve. Then he was coming, madly, his fluid reservoir emptying its contents forcefully against the cave wall in furious bursts, his whole form crackling wildly in time with the massive spasms of release which surged through him.

Leaning against the wall, Hound almost wept with the sheer relief. His hand massaged gently in time to the powerful overload waves, fluid still trickling from his spike tip as pleasure bathed him in a blanket of grey static which slowly engulfed all.

Gasping, intakes hissing, Hound allowed every last drop of overload to spill out of him.

...

"Harder!" shouted Mirage. "Deeper!" His hands clutched at the edge of the berth.

Cliffjumper growled, shifting behind him, shuffling closer on his knees as Mirage's legs opened wider. Gripping the blue and white aft, he thrust his swollen spike hard into the tightly configured valve, feeling nodes spark as Mirage's sensor ring closed around the base, squeezing tightly.

Mirage shouted again, tilting his aft back and Cliffjumper thrust harder, deeper, hardly able to believe Mirage was allowing himself to be fucked like this. He realized how long it was since he'd had a pure spike overload, that all the heady valve overloads had left his spike swollen and wanting for something more than ancillary release.

Oh yes, and Mirage's valve was so tight, _that ring thing_ magnifying all the sensations along its length and back up to his core. Cliffjumper felt fantastic; and overload was coming on fast.

Oh _yes!_ Cliffjumper thrust, not sure how long he could keep up this tempo. A warning flashed, his fluid chamber was reaching capacity, the charge in his circuits pounding at over-advisable strength. "I gotta come!" he moaned. "Ooh yeah, I really do this time Mirage, I can't stop!"

And, mercifully, Mirage seemed to be coming with him. The racer tensed, growling, and Cliffjumper felt fluid wash around his spike. "That's it!" Mirage rasped. "Oh yes, oh Primus, I didn't think I could get this tight, more, Cliffjumper, more, harder!"

The minibot obliged, thrusting in again, and again, and again, faster and faster, his hands gripping the sides of Mirage's aft as metal clashed in a rhythmic _clang, clang, clang!_

Scents of coolant and oil and mech fluids filled the air. Mirage tilted his aft up so the shaft of Cliffjumper's spike completely filled his wonderfully constricted valve, grinding against the anterior wall of his sensor ring. Vibrations skittered though to his sheathed spike, and the effect was electrifying. His spike tip burned, pleasure radiating back through his valve and sparking the nodes and sending wild currents scintillating up through his core.

In the briefest of pauses, Cliffjumper shifted again; then went off once more at a rate Mirage would hardly have believed possible And he was close, the hot metal of his hands burning into Mirage's aft, his spike huge and hard and hot, bigger every time the valve clamped on it. Mirage's core temperature spiked, his energy field flaring as he went up and up, approaching the bliss of overload which would send him into ecstasy.

And now, in the final moments, Mirage allowed himself the fantasy he so desperately wanted. That is was not Cliffjumper's spike in him but Hound's; and that his valve was not constricted to allow for pleasure but wide open, as far as the apertures would go, and stretched to maximum capacity, stretching still more to accommodate the mighty shaft; and the tracker was behind him, his powerful thighs rigid, pumping him, growling as he filled Mirage hugely and fully, the metal of Mirage's aft twisting in his hands as he strove for overload.

Cliffjumper was right on the brink. His thrusts slowed and he moaned, loudly; and then there came four or five deep thrusts slammed in. "Oh yes, yes, yes!" Cliffjumper yelled in time with them, and Mirage imagined it was Hound, crying out himself as the last one slammed in forcefully, denting his end plate.

Everything froze, and then exploded, Cliffjumper's fluids spurted hot and forcefully, bathing Mirage's valve as his own spike discharge on to the berth and spasms rocked his frame.

Mirage relished the waves of overload, leaning back into them, his optics offlined, rocking gently with each spasm, only vaguely aware of Cliffjumper's satisfied moans. He hadn't realized how desperate Hound had made him – or how accommodating Cliffjumper could be.

Cliffjumper slumped. Eventually, Mirage collapsed on his front and Cliffjumper on top of him. He was already offlining; yet, even as he did so, his interface circuits tingled anew. Cliffjumper hadn't _quite_ struck the really deep nodes. And Mirage knew that what had just happened was a mere preliminary to what was coming - soon.

He smiled to himself. Yes, he reflected. An appetizing aperitif before the glorious main course which was irrevocably headed his way.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! These two might even manage to do each other in the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *WARNINGS*: Sticky, smutty and very NC17. Contains sticky type mech-sex, stalking, voyeurism, coarse sexual language and descriptions, and (in this chapter) masturbation and oral sex. Additional warning for Mirage being an aft.
> 
> Notes: More porn lies below - however, in this Chapter I found myself giving in to the urge to also make this more plotty - as I really find PWP quite hard to write, and I'm as much 'into' angst and drama as I'm into smut. Hence, Mirage emerges as not only an aft but an aft with a dark side and some agendas of his own. And also - perhaps - a difficult past. But he's still a narcissistic cad!
> 
> This story is still following 'More than Meets the Eye' at the start of Season 1 very closely. Kinda like 'the untold version' LOL.
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the grey light of dawn seeped into the cave, the scents of Earth and ancient rocks mingled with the alien aroma of Cybertronian alloys and fluids.

Hound came slowly online. Lying on his back, he was slow to move and stiff all over. But whilst his systems might have ground slowly into operational status, memories from the night before streamed in.

His interface equipment throbbed instantly. A check revealed that his spike cover was still retracted, his spike tip aching, raw with repeated stimulation. But a warning flashed to reveal trans-fluid reservoirs 'critically low.' As Hound felt moisture, and realized he was lying in a pool of his own fluids, it was clear that more self pleasuring was out of the question.

Hound heaved himself to a sitting position. He was not surprised at the readings, or the amount of fluid in the cave. For he recalled, now, that there had been four overloads, each more intense than the last, each giving rise to even greater desire, each escalating to a new height of release and satiation. The last had burst out like a tidal wave, his cry sounding above the splattering of his release and echoing far into the cave. He had collapsed against the wall, offlining.

And there had been relief, glorious and ecstatic in the blanketing white light which had given way to grey shades as he moaned his way through the waves of overload and into black offlinedness. But now, Hound felt a gnawing void, the nagging discomfort of satiation not quite complete. Thoughts of Mirage came inevitably into his conscious awareness pool. Nothing would stop the need for the 'real thing.'

Hound's thighs tingled. He was pressurizing again, aching with an urge to welcome the Earth morn with another frantic bout of masturbation. But the low fluid levels rendered this inadvisable; besides, the ache from the empty chamber was not encouraging. And even as Hound's swollen spike urged his hand on to its shaft, noises floated through the clear air; the early morning activities from the Ark.

Hound's logic circuits reminded him starkly that the silence following the Sherman Dam attack would not go on for ever; that Megatron would certainly strike again. Hound would be wanted for his highly tuned olfactories and unique tracking abilities. And he would not be there …

Guilt swept through him, along with other unthinkable visions. He imagined laughter as the Autobots transformed and rolled out. _Don't worry about old Hound – did you see how he looked at Mirage? The way he was walkin' when he headed off – I'd say he had an appointment with his hand, ha ha ha …._

Hound saw Trailbreaker's devastation, and the triumphant look on Cliffjumper's optics that it was he who had 'scored;' The glint in Mirage's cobalt blue ones at the minibot's attentions, rendered even brighter by Hound's urgent need for release just from _thinking_ of him – which the racer would surely sense from the wistful looks at his blue curves.

The distant sound of splashing water reminded Hound that near the cave was a small stream which emerged from the rocks into a little pool. Hastening to it, he doused himself, removing evidence of the night's enjoyment as best he could. Then he plunged his heated spike into the cold water, watching it depressurize in a hiss of steam.

Stowing his equipment away, Hound moved quickly away down the mountain, doing his very best to keep his mind firmly on his bondmate and away from images of Mirage.

…..

Cliffjumper awoke alone. Initially, he was disappointed, remembering the warm alloys he'd cuddled up to and Mirage's exquisite scents. But then, a satisfied smile spread slowly over the minibot's faceplates. Turning over, he put his hands against the back of his head and stared at the ceiling, as triumph and glorious satiation spread slowly through his circuits and systems.

Best of all was the fact that Mirage could not want anyone else after last night. Not the way he'd feverishly attended to Cliffumper's spike, not after the noises he'd made when Cliffjumper had fucked him, not just once but three times. And what had come after.

The minibot squirmed, tingling with delightful memories of Mirage's quivering aft as he'd thrust in. Then, after they'd both released forcefully, charge had – amazingly – built again. Mirage had turned on to his back, and Cliffjumper had straight away spiked him hard, shoving in to the even tighter constricted valve with new energy.

He'd felt the smooth metal of the well crafted valve close around again, the base of his spike rubbed also by the tip of Mirage's, which he'd set exquisitely to ' just poke out.' Mirage had writhed and wriggled, wrapping his legs around as he got close; then his valve had clamped hard in spasms of climax, trans-fluid spraying Cliffjumper's midriff with exotic scented fluid.

Cliffjumper's spike began to pressurize, and his hand strayed feverishly to it as he remembered the only temporary delay before Mirage was once again on all fours and he was – amazingly – ready to fuck yet again. And that had not been the end of it. For after the last time, Mirage's hand had guided Cliffjumper's just after he came and Cliffjumper had felt the now fully emerged hot throbbing shaft of Mirage's spike in his hand.

"I think there's another something of mine could do with some attention now, sweetspark," he'd said.

Cliffjumper's hand began to massage up and down as he thought of how Mirage had turned on his back again, his spike sticking up hard. Cliffjumper hadn't waited for instructions. Straight away he'd slithered down and taken the slender, exquisitely hued blue and white appendage in his mouth, feeling his valve open, the nodes burning as he sucked and tasted fluid. And Mirage had pushed up into him. "Oooh that's nice," he'd said. "Oooh yes. Did you enjoy fucking me Cliffjumper?"

" _Mmmn…"_ Cliffjumper had murmured, his mouth full of spike. "You liked my valve clamping around your hard little shaft?"

" _Mnnnnnn …"_ he hadn't even cared about the 'little.' "I was so open, so wet. I'm making you wet now, aren't I?"

"Yeah!" Cliffjumper's knees bent, his legs flopping open, as his hand left his spike to finger the rim of his valve, just as he'd done when Mirage had said that. He moaned as he remembered the overwhelming need for his own valve to be filled, as fluid trickled on to the berth and, as he'd sucked Mirage, he'd fingered himself hard.

"This is _awfully_ nice!" Mirage had said, and he'd grasped the base of his spike and thrust it into Cliffjumper's mouth so it struck the back of his throat.

Heat radiated through Cliffjumper, at the thought of Mirage's fully extended spike, coolant spurting around his systems as it had then. His spike surged painfully and he grabbed it with his other hand, feverishly working both rim and spike, his thighs quivering as he recalled Mirage drawling: "Oh yes, all that getting fucked by your spike, I need to fuck you with mine, but oh for now your mouth feels …. mnnnn ….very nice!"

Cliffjumper made a noise, angling himself to stick his fingers deeper into his valve, as he had then. "Are you touching yourself? Mirage had rasped. "Yeesss …!" It had come out as a strangled wail. "I love that. Come with me," Mirage had said; and then he'd started to thrust, his frame vibrating and sending shudders all through Cliffjumper.

Now, Cliffjumper pumped his spike wildly, the berth shaking as he remembered how Mirage thrust in, in, IN; and then hot fluid had hit the back of his throat. Fluid from his valve swashed over his fingers and energy crackled up and down as his spike partially discharged.

Cliffjumper whimpered. He wasn't _quite_ there – as that hadn't _quite_ been it. Straight away Mirage had reached down and pulled Cliffjumper on to his chest. "Ride me!' he'd said. "I need more!" And because his fingers had only part done the job and hadn't reached his deep node, Cliffjumper had straight away eased himself on to the long spike.

The relief when it struck the deep node, release crackling all through its length! Now, the memory sufficed. Cliffjumper cried out, coming like mad in his valve as he had done then, straight away, and this time his spike adding a proper spray, a small fountain erupting above the berth.

Cliffjumper sank back, his knees flopping, his hands limp beside him as the waves of overload swept through. He'd been worried that coming so quickly would annoy Mirage - but instead it had delighted the racer.

"You are an insatiable little devil aren't you?" he'd grinned; and as his circuits tingled in release, Cliffjumper felt a pang in his spark at the memory of Mirage's crystal blue optics sparkling up at him. And even though he'd known it was not wise to do anything with Mirage except fuck him, to _feel_ anything - because Mirage didn't feel anything for _him_ \- he had leaned down and kissed him, his spark burning, rolling his glossa around Mirage's mouth.

Mirage had kissed him back, his spike stiffening again in Cliffjumper's valve. "See what you do too me?" the racer had drawled. "Now turn over …"

After the two more times that followed, Cliffjumper had been as sure then that he was enough to satisfy Mirage as he was now. And even though he knew Mirage was a cold sparked Alphamech, and he could not be absolutely certain, he had thought - just _thought_ \- that maybe there had been just a _teeny_ hint of spark energy at the end of that last climax, which he'd had being fucked hard and frantically, his legs over Mirage's shoulders.

Cliffjumper sighed happily, fingering the fluid on his thighs. That last one was extra special …

His comm crackled suddenly. /Cliffjumper. Report!/ the minibot was jarred uncomfortably to attention. /Cliffjumper? Report NOW!/

It was Gears. And from the tone, a most unhappy Gears. Even more unhappy than usual; and – Cliffjumper thought with a sinking spark – he almost certainly knew why.

The older minibot's contempt for the Alphamech was hardly a secret.

/We're briefing!/ Gears snapped. / Report immediately! If you can tear yourself away!/

Cliffjumper sighed. But then brightened. Mirage was probably already down there! He had a very important job here, after all! Well, it would be brilliant when he walked in and their optics met and _things_ rushed through them both at the memories of last night. And even better when everyone else saw it - and acknowledged just how much of an _item_ they were becoming.

Grinning, Cliffjumper scrambled up and hastened into the washrack.

…..

But Mirage - as it happened - had had better things to do with his time. "Comm me when you decide what you want me to do, that would be splendid!" he said to Prowl and Jazz, relishing the way the second in command bristled with indignation at the very _notion_ of the usurpation of his authority by this upstart, this - _Alphamech._

This epitome of what Prowl - if he was honest - really wanted to be but never would because of his inferior Praxan alloys.

"Keep your comm on. That is an order!" Prowl snapped.

Oh, but it was entertaining – truly! And made even more so by the fact that Jazz was hovering nearby. And Jazz was fucking Prowl – something Mirage was not supposed to know, but did; because how could he _not_ know when he had walked into Prowl's office to the view of Jazz's aft pumping up and down, a pair of black and white legs wrapped around him?

It wasn't his fault they hadn't code-locked the door. Or that he'd forgotten to turn off the electro disruptor and was still invisible. It was the first day here, after all. Mirage was still 're-adjusting.'

The overload had been impressive. A lot of noise, sparks crackling and a fair share of fluids. But how _exquisitely_ amusing was it that - despite this - Jazz looked at he, Mirage, in a rather obvious way. A look not dissimilar to the Tracker's lustful gaze.

Not that Jazz was a patch on the Tracker, of course. Oh, Jazz was handsome enough in his own right. And he could certainly fuck - that much had been obvious. But for some reason, Mirage had never gone for sporty types and Simfurian accents.

But the pretend ' lustful' look Mirage bestowed now on the saboteur, and Jazz's trying to make out he didn't see it, much less that he was _responding_ ; the straightening of Prowl's back and ruffling of doorwings – it was all too priceless to pass by.

He gave them a mock salute and wandered off, smirking, confident he had some time on his hands. From the Decepticons' point of view, the dam escapade had been a debacle – and if Mirage knew Megatron, he'd be too busy blaming and shouting to have hatched another proper plot yet.

Which was excellent - it left plenty of free time to figure how best to organize the first fuck with the Tracker. Very considerate of Megatron, Mirage surmised.

And in the meantime, he would use his time productively. For in the basement – yes – was none other than Ravage, still couped up after her capture shortly after they arrived. She was worth a visit. He was sure the others hadn't bothered much – after all, they didn't even speak her language.

He, on the other hand, did. So good if he could discover a means to hasten his departure back to Cybertron - seeing as how the Autobots seemed rather _less_ than enthusiastic about this. Mirage smiled to himself. On Cybertron, fucking Hound and Cliffjumper could still, of course, be absolutely on the cards. And much better than on this miserable excuse for a planet.

…

"I must not think of him!" Hound said out loud as he entered the control room – having missed the rather brief briefing. _I must not think of him!_

Even as he said this, the thought of the blue and white racer sent surges running up the backs of his thighs and straight into his spike housing. But he found himself face to face with an eminently sobering combination. Brawn and Gears regarded him disapprovingly, Brawn with hands in hips and Gears with his arms folded.

"Where's Trailbreaker?" Hound asked Brawn immediately.

Gears' beady optics narrowed. "He went out with the humans!" He snapped. "Somebody needed to spy on the Decepticons!"

The racer was still in his processor. Hound could not stop himself. "Isn't that Mirage's job?"

The two bots darkened. "Yeah!" Gears growled. "That sure as hell is what we're led to believe. But seems like his high and mightiness prefers corrupting _my minibots_ to gettin' out there and doin' an honest day's work!" beside him, Brawn nodded, his mouth spread in a firm, disapproving line.

"Is that so?" Hound tried to sound flippant. But Gears glowered. Looking around to check nobody was listening, he moved closer. "Yeah, it is so," he growled. "And it's pathetic! But Cliffjumper's young an' naïve. Too much energy. Always did have. Didn't he Brawn?"

"Eh, that he did!" the golden minibot agreed, nodding grimly. "His creators despaired of him. The talent in that bot! It's just unfortunate he's choosing to expend it in – the way he is!" he also leaned closer. "But he is, as Gears rightly says, naïve. Swept off his feet! You, Hound, however – you oughtta have more sense!"

Hound shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny of the minibot optics. He wondered with a terrible sinking in the pit of his processor, how many of the others had 'noticed' his attractions; how many had noticed Trailbreaker's sorrowful optics.

Trailbreaker. He'd gotten up early and reported, and now gone off alone. Hound thought of the sturdy dark blue truck bouncing over the Earth landscape, of how he should have been there by his side; of the fun they could have in this place – were it not for his own silly obsession – surely as equally naïve as Cliffjumper's.

Guilt overwhelmed him; and it was then that he made a decision. _No more racer._ There was no need! Hound had had his 'little fantasy.' And was he not quite well enough satiated?

"Of course!" he said, suppressing the tingle in his loins, and the little voice which said 'you still want Mirage likes crazy, you know you do …'

"Now – if you can tell me where Trailbreaker is," he went on quickly, "I'll get straight out there and give him a hand!"

But just then, all their comms erupted in crackles. "Emergency!" came the voice of the human, Spike. "We are under attack. Seekers! Trailbreaker was awesome - but he's hurt!"

Hound froze. And then his spark was pounding as he went to rush for the door. But he found Prowl in the way, as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe charged past.

"Seekers? Our department!" grinned the red twin, before he transformed and followed his brother. There as a screech of tyres and cloud of charred rubber as engines revved and they headed away.

"Prowl – please?" But Prowl's doorwings twitched and Jazz appeared soberly beside him.

They regarded Hound with a 'look' every bit as disappointed as the ones still on the faces of the arms-folded minibots behind him.

"I'm thinkin' you'd do better t' stay here!" Jazz said.

…..

Cliffjumper sat wistfully on the chair in Bumblebee's room. "He's amazing!" he said. "And I can't help it, Bee! I think I'm falling for him."

Bee looked at his fellow minibot despairingly, but with a great affection. Such a fearsome and aggressive type on the battlefield was Cliffjumper; and yet really quite soft underneath. He had always been like it.

"Cliffie you can't!" he said. "You know what Mirage is like! He's got a reputation which puts a lot of Decepticons to shame. He was like it even before the war."

But Cliffjumper regarded him stubbornly. "You've been listening to Brawn and Gears too much!" he said. "He's not like that – well – not all of him. He does care. I can tell!"

"How?" said Bumblebee, folding his arms. He could, at the very least, make Cliffjumper 'think' about this.

"He makes just as sure I have a good time as he does!"

Bee rolled his optics. Why did there have to be this 'complication? Why couldn't Cliffjumper take up with Windcharger? The other minibot was almost melting with desire.

Now Windie would end up fragging Brawn, Bee knew; and that was tragic, because Huffer wanted Brawn, and now Bee would have a distraught Huffer as well as a lovesick Cliffie. They always came to him. How could be concentrate on his 'Special Ops' career?

"I reckon Raj is lonely!" Cliffjumper was saying. "He lost a lot. In the war!"

Bumblebee sighed. So it was _'Raj'_ now. No doubt the Alphamech's ego revelled in such terms of endearment. "I suppose you're gonna make that better?" Bee said.

He tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He knew what Cliffjumper said was true. And it wasn't just the exquisitely crafted, ancient buildings in The Towers District above Iacon that Mirage had lost; but pretty much his whole creed and culture.

It had part made Mirage what he was. But it was also history, done, _water under the bridge,_ as Spike would say. And it didn't matter how passionately his seemingly endless supply of lovers fragged him - they couldn't change it either. Bee had seen it all.

"Yeah!" Cliffjumper said. "I reckon Raj needs – comforting!"

Bee crossed to the chair, where he perched on the arm. "Cliffjumper, I know what happened to Mirage is awful," he said. "And I know a lot of Autobots don't understand that. But the fact is - _whatever's_ happened, he ain't gonna fall for you."

When Cliffjumper pouted, Bee reached out and ran the back of his fingers over his helm. "Alphas are – _were_ – like that!" he said gently. "They're - kinda cold. Ruthless - and not just in spark affairs. D'you know, Mirage used to kill Seekers with his bare hands? Look what he did to those two on the bridge?"

But at that, Cliffjumper bristled with fury. He got to his feet. "You're trying to tell me Mirage is no good because he _kills Seekers?"_ he snarled. "That he's a waste of time because he _saved me?_ "

Bee reached out for him, but Cliffjumper drew back, "You're just jealous!" he cried. "Just because you can't pull somebody like him!" His optics narrowed. "Well, Bee, who are you _doing?_ Why don't you go and screw Gears? He's about on a par with you!"

"Cliffjumper …" Bee tried. But the red minibot was already flouncing from the room. The door slammed loudly - leaving Bee sighing and shaking his head

"Why always me?" he muttered.

…

In the darkness of the Ark basement, there was no movement in the makeshift cage which housed Soundwave's feline minion.

"Ohh – cattums?" Mirage called out.

There came a metal rustling, followed by the scritch of claws on concrete, and a low growl.

"Ah, there you are, Ravage!" Mirage said, coming over to the cage. He regarded the cat, whose optics had narrowed as she sat up on her haunches, scrutinizing him harshly. "Mirage! I knew it!" She snapped. "What do you want?"

Mirage pulled a crate over and sat himself down casually. "Just wanted to see that the five star establishment treatment was treating you all right!" he said. "That the excellent accommodation is to your liking. That the high grade is of the absolutely right vintage, that the energon is of the special cat variety that only one of Soundwave's most precious…"

"Cut the scrap!" Ravage hissed. "You want to go back to Cybertron! And you hope to wheedle out of me ways that you might do that!"

Mirage considered that. _"Hmmmnnnn …"_ he frowned. "That would be nice. You know - I've never cared much for organic realms. This one seems particularly – _distasteful!"_

"Cybertron!" The cat scoffed. "An overcrowded hovel, it became. That's why there was war. How do you even know its still there?"

"Oh it's there!" Mirage said. "Trust me. I have it on the best authority that it's there."

Ravage regarded him coolly. "Indeed, Megatron believes so," she said.

There was a moment's silence, and then her voice turned silky. "There is, of course, always a place for you among the Decepticons, Mirage! This you know. Why don't you let me go? I can take you back to the space cruiser we're building, and you can help us finish it. _Then_ \- you can have a ride!"

Mirage gave his own low laugh. "Ah, but you see there's a problem with that! I don't _like_ Decepticons. Megatron was most unreasonable when it came to the Towers - and Seekers have never exactly been my 'favourites.' And now - all that squabbling and carry on with Starscream, Ravage! It really is rather a lot to ask!"

Ravage's audios went back, her tail switching angrily. "You underestimate Soundwave!" She hissed. "His plans for Cybertron have not changed. And they are far superior to the puny efforts of those other fools!"

"Indeed, a mech of many talents!" Mirage mused. "Rather subservient these days, however – namely to those _other fools._ But its not just that. I've formed – attachments – among the Autobots. There's a couple I want to take along for the ride. Just in case – you know – there's not much to do when we get there!""

The cat got into a crouch, her optics flashing. "You're fragging two of them?" she cried. "Already! Which ones this time? Don't tell me its that black and white policemech and his newly acquired consort? She smirked. That Jazz! I could tell you a thing or two about him!"

Mirage was rather pleased at this revelation. But at the thought of Prowl's disapproving face and stiff doorwings, he erupted into laughter. "Credit me with a little more taste!" he said. "You know I prefer either the small and insatiable or the rugged and randy. And as it happens, both varieties have made themselves available. A minibot and – the green tracker!"

The cat scoffed. But Mirage went on. "Now – rather than don the Decepticon insignia, how would it be if you arranged a little slot for us on that space cruiser of yours? You know me! I can do it in such a way that we won't even be seen!"

He got up and paced next to the cage. "Little favour like that – and I might just accidentally let my hand slip – on that catch there."

But the cat's optics were slits. "No join Decepticons. No space cruiser. No Autobot fragtoys, and no Cybertron!" she growled. "And that is my last word!"

Mirage, regarded her coldly, "Very well then!" he said. "No open cage!"

And then Ravage was on her hind feet, claws scraping and metal clanging at the bars. "You spoiled brat of an Alphamech!" she snarled. "You traitor! Soundwave would have given his sonic canon for you! You _owe_ it to him to join the Decepticons!""

Mirage smiled, but in a way which made clear his disappointment and annoyance over the dragging out again of this futile and repetitive argument. "I think we're done for now," he said.

He strode out, leaving the cat ranting in the darkness. Once she 'started' like this, reasoning and sensible suggestions were futile. But, in fact, Mirage wasn't 'done.' Despite the irritating lack of change, he may still break Ravage, may be on that cruiser yet. And there was always – that spacebridge. He wondered if it was still operational.

In the meantime, his 'distractions' were now more needed than ever. Besides, although he'd told Ravage that his two lovers would come with him largely to bait her, the idea now appealed. He could indeed do with some entertainment whilst Cybertron was restored. He had the distinct feeling that opportunities for it there could be rather sparse.

As his valve began to throb again, Mirage smiled to himself, his interface relays tingling. It sure was time he went in search of Hound. NOW - he was ready for the Tracker.

…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On with Hound's lust and guilt, a sparkbroken Cliffjumper, Mirage being a bigger aft than ever, and some smut!
> 
> This is still set in Season 1, in MTMTE and during the episode in which Megatron goes after the Ruby Crystals of Burma :-)
> 
> *Warnings* for sticky mechsex and oral sex.

Reclined in the medberth and awaiting Ratchet’s attentions, Trailbreaker’s optics were shuttered. Hound squeezed his hand. “Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

“I’m fine,” Trailbreaker murmured. Although Hound thought he looked far from it. An ugly gouge scarred his chestplates, and circuitry protruded from a partly shattered arm. That was without the numerous other scrapes and scratches. Hound squirmed awkwardly, knowing also that part of the ‘not being fine’ _wasn’t_ due to the skirmish with the Seekers.

From the other side of the medbay came complaints. “For frag’s sake!” growled Sunstreaker’s voice. “That slaggin’ stings!” Hound heard Ratchet growl back with an unintelligible response, heard Sideswipe snicker.

Hound glanced across to see Ratchet moving around the berth, and did not miss the way in which Ratchet’s hips lightly brushed Sideswipe, who snickered again. The tracker felt curiously relieved. At least he wasn’t the only one with ‘other attractions.’ Didn’t that make the pursuit of Mirage just a little bit OK?

A slight movement brought his optics back to his bondmate who was, to Hound’s dismay, watching him, disappointment apparent in his gentle optics _No, of course it didn't!_

Hound leaned over and kissed him lightly. “It’ll be all right!” he whispered. But Trailbreaker didn’t respond, instead reshuttering his optics and turning his face away.

More sounds came from the other berth. “Can’t you hurry it up?” Sunstreaker snarled.  “Megatron’s gone after those ruby crystal things. Everyone’s at the mountain. We do wanna _be_ there y’know!”  

“You’ll _be there_ when I’m ready for you to go!” Ratchet growled. “And pull those screens around!”

Sideswipe got up and started to move the screens, hiding his twin. He cast a devilish grin in Hound and Trailbreaker’s direction, “Mirage is down there too I heard!” he said, before disappearing to join his brother.

Hound sighed. “Look, Breaker …” he began. But Trailbreaker clutched his arm.  “Hound!” he croaked. “I’m OK. As soon as Ratchet ‘s done with them he’s gonna get me sorted. Why don’t you go get down there?”

And Hound could not help it. Thoughts of Mirage’s lithe body were immediately in his processor. Oh how much he wanted to ‘get down there!’ But his spark burned, torn between desire and such an intense love for his sparkmate he could hardly bear it. He gave his bondmate’s hand a resolute squeeze. “I’m gonna stay with you!”  He said. No, he had to be finished with thoughts about Mirage.

“Hound,” Trailbreaker whispered. “I know what’s on your mind. I’ll manage without you.”

Hound’s spark burned. “But I want you!” he gasped. And that was true.  He had not stopped wanting Breaker. He just wanted  – both of them. In very different ways. But right now, Trailbreaker needed him more. Yes – and his bond mate would need to interface soon, too. The placid blue mech was quite deceptive. Ordinarily, his urges exceeded Hound’s.

“I’ll stay!” Hound insisted.

But Trailbreaker was looking at him sadly. “Hound – I don’t know that I want you,” he said quietly. “Not at the moment. Not while your needs are - elsewhere.”

Hound shuttered his optics. Raising Trailbreaker’s hand to his lips he kissed it, gently. “They won’t be any more,” he said. “It’ll be OK…”

“No!” Trailbreaker pulled his hand away. To Hound’s dismay, he had a resolute look, the same one which had attracted Hound in the first place, so many eons ago.  “I don’t need you, Hound” he said. “When Ratchet’s finished dealing with the twins I’m gonna get him to give me a little – relief!”

Hound sat up, his optics widening in disbelief. He looked over at the screens. Snickers and little noises came from behind them and the movement of the outlines suggested that whatever was going on was distinctly ‘un-medical.’ And that was hardly surprising.  But Hound had always thought Ratchet’s ‘attentions’ were reserved for the twins.

“Its part of his medical responsibilities,” Trailbreaker murmured. “Though with them …” he nodded to the screens, “it’s a bit more. But it’s OK. They say he’s - good."

Hound pulled back, an unexpectedly fierce jealousy erupting in his spark. For a moment he nearly leaped up, wanted to go over there, pull the screens away and demand of the medic what the hell he thought he was doing - no matter how ridiculously hypocritical that was; or what he might look like.

He glowered at the screens. But Trailbreaker caught his arm. “I haven’t done it to make you jealous,” he said. “It’s just a practical solution. So don’t take it out on him.”   

“No …” Hound stared at the screens, behind which things had gone uncannily quiet, for a long moment. He took a deep intake. Leaning over, he kissed his bondmate. “OK,” he said. Although it wasn’t; and Hound knew that the confusion and hurt sounded in his voice.  “I’ll get myself to Prime and the others, then!”  He muttered.

He went to pull away; but Trailbreaker clutched him. “Look - I ain’t saying I don’t love you any more,” he said. “Or that what Ratchet’s gonna do is gonna make up for anything I could have with you!” he whispered.  “I just wanna cope while you go an’ get this outta your system, Hound. Otherwise – I don’t think I can handle it.” 

Hound  nodded. He felt the fierce love through the bond, but also the anguish and - a distancing. His spark pained again. If only he had _never_ set optics on Mirage.

But Trailbreaker was regarding him resignedly. “One more thing,” he said as muted sighs came from the screens and Ratchet emerged, looking far too cheerful for Ratchet.

“Watch out for that minibot. He’s gotten himself a ‘thing’ for the Alphamech. What I’ll do if I see you two at it ain’t a patch on what he’ll do if he sees it!”

Hound got up as Ratchet came over. He gave Trailbreaker one last look without paying attention to the medic. He did not trust himself to do that. “I know what you mean,” he muttered. And left.

…………………………

Irritated beyond all reason, Mirage waited with a collection of anxious Autobots. Close by, the mountain housing these supposed ‘Ruby crystals of Burma’ towered, unfortunately not in the right place to prevent the effects of the penetrating Earth sun.

The main reason for the racer’s presence – the green jeep who had been certain to be here - was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Mirage had found himself waiting for Bumblebee, who had gone into the mountain, “to see what the Cons were up to.” The human had gone too.

Mirage scuffed at the annoyingly stony ground with one foot. He suspected Bumblebee’s suitability for the special operations team was being ‘assessed’ – although what that meant, Primus only knew. It was part of the overall increasingly ridiculous situation –and it did nothing for Mirage’s mood.

Mirage glared at the mountain, despising it. The fact that it wasn’t being blasted into oblivion was just another indication of the increasingly evident fact that Prime didn’t really want Megatron dead at all – just to come around to his way of thinking. Which wasn’t going to happen; hence these ‘games.’ _Until Megatron builds that spacecruiser._ _Which I shall be on – then we will sort out what is best for Cybertron,_ Mirage thought resignedly.

In the meantime, there were other matters to be attended to. But where the deuce was Hound? And why was he hanging around waiting for Bumblebee and a silly human?  

“I’ll go and do a reccy,” Mirage had said. “See if I can see what’s going on.” But this time, it had been Optimus Prime who’d fixed him with a kindly but firm blue ‘look.’ “I think its best we all remain here, Mirage,” he’d said. “Depending on Bumblebee’s report, we may need to _go in_ together. And, uh …” he’d looked embarrassed, “I’d like you here where I can see you.”

Ironhide had appeared then, arms folded, and Prowl, a look of smug satisfaction on the infuriatingly polished face beneath that silly red chevron.

 _Never mind,_ Mirage had thought. _Hound will show up here._ Except that Hound hadn’t. Worse, the Tracker had his comm switched off.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait and watch. As the Earth sun burned down, little hairline cracks sullied Mirage’s paintwork, making him itchy and uncomfortable. It was made all the worse by the charge buzzing in his circuits, the arousal built in anticipation of – well, what he had thought would be happening by now.

A short distance away, Cliffjumper sat on a rock, a downcast look on his face.  Mirage knew the minibot wanted him to go over, to whisper sweet nothings, to maybe somehow whisk him somewhere and do more of what Mirage had done last night.  Pleasant memories drifted through his processor, relieving his predicament just a little. The idea was not unappealing.

But there were Prime and company not fifteen feet away, whilst Brawn and Gears also regarded him, their sentiments obvious. No – _not_ really a good time for that.

Besides, darn it, Mirage needed the Tracker’s ‘equipment.’ It did not matter how ‘good’ Cliffjumper was, how uninhibited he was or how much energy he had; he was a _minibot_ for frag’s sake. There were only so many spots his minibot sized spike could get to – even if it was ‘above average’ for his type.

Mirage started to pace, slowly, another comm call yielding still no answer. Surely Hound couldn’t be avoiding him? He hadn’t had pangs of guilt about that bondmate – that _possessive_ bondmate, had he? Mirage scowled. Why did bondmates always have to get in the way? Didn’t they realize they only delayed the inevitable?

Nevertheless, maybe he shouldn’t put all hopes in Hound…..

Close by, and apart from the main group, another mech sat alone, busily cleaning a rifle. With a quick glance Mirage sized up the pleasing frame of Bluestreak, noting  the broad chest, the sturdy thighs, the doorwings which twitched in a far more sensuous and appealing way than Prowl’s - even now, when Bluestreak wasn’t in action.  

 _Yes …._ Mirage’s relays tingled with pleasant memories. He thought of Smokescreen, who before he’d screwed up as Mirage’s financial advisor had certainly been ‘entertaining’ in other ways.  Praxians – unarguably they had their talents.

Bluestreak looked up. A small shudder went through the doorwings when he saw Mirage looking. Mirage turned away, his smile becoming a smirk.  Nice! Another quick glimpse back took in Bluestreak’s pelvic ‘regions.’ Not as good as Hound’s but not bad, _not bad at all!_ And those chevrons could be wonderfully sensitive.

Yes, it never hurt to have several on the go. Of course, this one did have rather a lot of ‘baggage‘– which could be a nuisance. And he was Prowl’s cousin – which could make things awkward. But hey! What an awesome way to get the poker faced second in command ‘going.’ A wicked glint appeared in the Alphamech’s optic .

“You like him, don’t you!” So preoccupied with considering Bluestreak had he been, that Mirage hadn’t noticed Cliffjumper, who now stood beside him, hands on hips, a petulant expression on the dark face.

Mirage noticed that the others were forming a group around Prime, and that Bluestreak had gotten up and was wandering over. Mirage shot a look in his direction. “Well I uh – no!” he said. “Of course not.”

Unfortunately, Cliffjumper had seen the ‘look.'  “You do! You really fancy him!” he burst out. “You used to look at me like that! I know he’s next! ” and then, to Mirage’s horror, the minibot’s optics turned liquidy.  “You’re only going to want me till you find somebody better!” he cried.

Jealousy was not always unwelcome. In fact, it could sometimes be a cheering reminder that Mirage was an Alpha, and as such, irresistible. But Hell! Now was hardly a good time. Apart from the inconvenience of contending with Cliffjumper’s relations, this wouldn’t bode well if Hound showed up.

Besides which, lovers could be unpredictable when they got _like this_ , and Mirage didn't want to _not have_ the option of the minibot.

It was fortunate that Prime banged on, and the others were mostly focused on him. The words ‘going in’ drifted across. Mirage put his arm around the minibot and steered him away. “He means nothing to me, sweetspark,” he crooned.

He felt Cliffjumper melt into the touch. But only briefly. The minibot stiffened, pouting. “Sometimes I think you don’t want me for me!” he grumbled. “Gears says you’ve had more lovers than he’s had energon rations. And Brawn says you’re just using me. And Bumblebee says you can’t love anyone!”

He broke away, his optics flashing with despair and indignation. _“Is it true?”_ he wailed.

Primus, Mirage wished this wasn’t happening! Hadn’t he picked a minibot to avoid all this ‘stuff!’ Weren’t they meant to like just fucking and having fun? But he glanced around, catching sight of Gears’ face - and was forced to conclude that perhaps he’d been a little wrong, there.

And now Cliffjumper’s face was distraught, a tear leaking from one optic.  “Do you – love me?”  he trembled.

Prime appeared already to be wrapping things up, and the group was dispersing. The Autobot leader was looking his way.  Ah, thank Primus - an excuse would exist to depart. But Cliffjumper’s face was a picture of anguish. Mirage would have to deal with this ‘impediment’ before he did anything else.

“Of course it’s not like that,” Mirage whispered, looking at Cliffjumper with velvety blue optics. “I mean – I’m an Alpha, and I can’t help being – attracted – to others. But you, little one, you will always be very special.” And he leaned down and gave Cliffjumper a peck on the cheek.

The minibot’s face lit up. _“Really?”_ he said. “Hey – you’re the best, Mirage. “ And then, he looked pained again. “I’m sorry to be so untrusting!” he said. “It’s just that Brawn and Gears reckon that …”

But Mirage wasn’t listening. Instead, he watched Prime transform and roll away.  Ironhide, Jazz and Prowl talked in low voices, casting looks after him in the direction of the mountain. Brawn and Gears, however, were headed determinedly over. Their mouths spread in firm, grim lines.

“I’ll tell you what. You stay here and I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Mirage said. “I’ve got something rather _important_ to see to! But after that …” Mirage stole a glance down at Cliffjumper’s codpiece and allowed his energy field to let off a small flare.  “Perhaps a little more of what we – had last night?”

“Hey yeah!” Cliffjumper enthused, a little too loudly, as heat burst forth from the red panels.

Mirage saw Bluestreak turn his head  - just as he activated the electro disruptor. He managed a wink at the gunner just before he vanished. Then he didn’t stay around for Ironhide’s inevitable remonstrations, or Brawn and Gears' stern lecture, or Cliffjumper’s defensive outburst; but instead slipped silently away.

……………..

Transforming, Hound revved his engine and took off, heading out of the Ark. Now, thoughts of what Ratchet was doing to Trailbreaker - _his_ Trailbreaker - again invaded his processor.  It was a ‘medical situation.’ Sure! Still, Hound’s spark felt like it was being crushed. He didn’t _want_ Trailbreaker with Ratchet. Even if it was his fault.

But no, it wasn’t his fault. It was _Mirage’s_ fault; that was what it was!

Hound revved his engine angrily. Being all streamline and sexy, and _slinking around_ like that. Giving people ‘looks!’ When he was almost certainly just ‘flirting.’ Why would he even want a _jeep,_ for pits sake?

Oh no - Alphamechs – the reputations they had. Hound had risked his bond for a foolish fleeting fantasy.

Memories of the cave floated back, sending a wave of dizziness through his relays. But Hound suppressed the impulses, setting coordinates for the Ruby Crystal Mountain.  Yes  - he’d  concentrate on what he had to do, and then go back to his bondmate. He’d take Trailbreaker something nice - maybe even some of these Ruby Crystals.

Then he’d say he was sorry! He’d say he hadn’t _looked_ at Mirage, that Trailbreaker was the only one for him. And it would be true!

Hound rolled along, so intent on his resistance, that he did not even remember to activate his com. When a sudden explosion rocked the ground, he veered to one side, nearly going off the road.

 _What the …?_ The noise was closely followed by another. And another ….

Chastising himself when he realized his deficiency, Hound hastily went to enter the General Frequency.  But before he could make the call, a smooth voice cut in. “Say, where are you?” it drawled.

Electricity flashed through Hound, closely followed by a near collision with a rock. He slithered to a halt as all his previous thoughts seemed to dissipate into the clear air.  He felt components shift and change, his core burn deeply.

“Hello? Hound?”

That voice! Despite his fierce love for Trailbreaker, Hound’s interface relays activated. His spike stiffened  painfully  in the constraints of his alt mode.

Then he was furious again. With both himself and the _aft_ on the other end of the comm. “I’m about 40 miles due west of the Ark and headed for the mountain,” he snapped. “Status report requested!”

Chuckles sounded.  “Oh, this and that’s happening!”  Mirage said. “Prime, Bumblebee and the human entombed the Decepticons with these crystal things. Supposed to be valuable energy sources but you know Megatron – they were cheap scrap.  Prime took a hit, but we got him up again. Now there’s a bit of a skirmish going on. Some Seekers turned up – its rather entertaining!”

 _Entertaining?_ Horrified, Hound crunched gears and roared off again. Not only had he betrayed his bondmate, but he was missing in action! And that – _attitude!_ It was despicable. It confirmed everything he’d just been thinking about that … that …

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Tell them I’m on my way! If they need holographic diversion, they’ve got it!”

But Mirage chortled as though there were not a care in the universe. “I wouldn’t stress too much,” he drawled. “Bluestreak and Ironhide are handling it. However, I agree …” the voice lowered, “your presence would be – _much appreciated!”_

Hound increased the revs, his engine screaming as he raced over the rough ground at a far greater speed that that intended for this alt form.  His axles squeaked as tyres bounced and scraped. “I’m about twenty minutes away!” he snapped. “Tell them I’m coming!”

Hound would do his duty. He _must_ do his duty. It was the only thing that mattered. His still throbbing interface relays? They were simply not important.  

…………….

Mirage clicked off the comm, a sly grin on his face. "Glad to hear it!" he chuckled.

He had no intention of telling the others anything. He watched as they dusted themselves down and inspected their scrapes and dings. There was no real damage, the only serious 'casualty' being Ironhide, who complained as he was loaded into Ratchet.

The medic had arrived moments earlier. Mirage had thought Ratchet seemed unusually cheerful. A stern Prime had ordered Ironhide to comply.

A little way away, Jazz nodded politely to the praises for Ironhide’s rescue. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and a few others clustered around Bluestreak, affectionately castigating the brave if foolish chase of the Seekers which had landed him and Ironhide in the lagoon. Meanwhile, Prowl fussed, rounding everyone up, saying it really would be a good idea to get back to the Ark. Bluestreak cast a wistful look in Mirage’s direction.

Mirage turned away, amused. They didn’t even know it was him who’d fired the wounding shots. Not Ironhide, not Bluestreak, and certainly not Goldenmech and his sidekick, who’d turned up late, not hit a single target, and seemed curiously reluctant to injure the Seekers.

Not that Mirage cared; any more than he gave a toss that Prime had not told them it was he who’d found Bumblebee and Spike so they could be ‘rescued.’ No – the Autobots needed this moment of triumph–as always. Accolades could come later - when they were off this undignified rock. The concern for now was that the whole lot of them _got the hell out of here_ in the next half breem.

Mirage huffed impatiently. If only they’d hurry up!  Primus forbid, the last thing he wanted was for Hound to arrive and ‘escort’ them.

To distract himself, Mirage thought of the skirmish. “We ain’t forgotten the dam, Alphabrat!” Thundercracker had roared as he landed heavily and staggered into root mode, Skywarp crashing down just after.  “I daresay you haven’t!” Mirage had said politely, firing a casual volley at them and striking home in some amusingly painful places.

“We ain’t that hurt, an’ are you gonna get it!” They had limped towards him, and Mirage had decided that Skywarp’s wings were really quite sexy. He’d even begun to wonder what it would be like to frag a Seeker he wasn’t about to terminate; but Megatron had bawled a summons then, and the pair had staggered into the air and flown off.

Although not before Skywarp had given him a ‘once over.’ _How amusing!_ Mirage pondered.  He was sure Goldenmech and his _bro_ wouldn’t like that at all. What in the Universe would Prowl say? At least some thoughts he had here could be very entertaining.

And now, mercifully, the Autobots were rolling out. And Hound, with his ‘holographic diversions,’ was still _en route._ Perfect! Thank Primus Cliffjumper had left already with Bumblebee after some gentle persuasion that the other minibot ‘needed’ him after the mountain – and with the promise that Mirage would follow soon.

Now, what was Hound’s comm frequency again ….?

“Good work, Mirage!” Prime startled him. Darn it! Mirage had almost forgotten him! But the leader looked kindly – and embarrassed. “Look – I Just wanted to say thank you for letting Prowl take the credit,” Prime said. “And the Lambo twins. They’re touchy at the moment. “

Prime looked around him. “This place, you know …” He looked around again. “I – uh – know how it is for you here,” he said. “I just want you to know that your contribution has not escaped me, Mirage, and just as soon as I’ve dealt with Megatron, we’ll be on our way!”

 _It will be sooner than you think,_ Mirage thought. But mainly, he was relieved. He nodded, making sure a suitably ‘pained’ expression came on to his faceplates.  “I think if you wouldn’t mind, Prime, some alone time would be appreciated,” he said. “I shall bide my time returning to the Ark!”

“Of course, of course! Take as long as you need!” Looking past him, Mirage saw Prowl approaching. The black and white mech’s optics ridges furrowed, and he went to speak, but Prime held up a hand. “You get going, Prowl!” Prime said gently. “I’ll be right with you!”  

He turned back to Mirage, smiling sympathetically.  “Thanks again,” he said.

“My pleasure!” Mirage murmured, delighting at Prowl’s expressive back and wings as they walked away.

……………………

Hound’s scanners twitched as he bounced over the rough terrain, heading for the coordinates Mirage had given him. He detected no Decepticons. Yet as he drew near, no Autobot signatures registered either. In fact, as Hound drove along the river bank leading to the small valley with the pool from which Bluestreak had been hauled, anxiety crept in.

There was something more about this ‘thing’ he had – _he’d used to have_ – for Mirage. It wasn’t just the effect on his relationship with Trailbreaker. Had Hound really ignored the hushed rumours about the Alphamech’s allegiances, about past deals with Decepticons and Mirage not being an Autobot by choice?

And now the mech had summoned him to this lagoon – but the place was mysteriously deserted. And whilst it might be exciting to think that Mirage had orchestrated things that way _– frag, no it wasn’t_ \- Hound could not ignore the other possible implications.

Transforming, he activated his arm canon and cast around. Primus he’d been stupid. He was a valuable Autobot, devoted to the Cause. This could even be a trap ….

“Nice gun! Bet that’s gotten more than its fair share of attention in its time…”

Hound swivelled fast; but already the voice had had _that effect_.  The arming of the weapon was at a distinctly lower speed than usual. Then, Hound melted inside.

Perched on a rock, a smile on his devastatingly handsome face, Mirage gleamed blue and white in the afternoon Earth sun. He was poised in such a way as to show off his slender body and long legs perfectly. One knee was bent, the other leg dangled idly, just sufficiently apart reveal his groin area. A hand with long fingers was on the bent knee, the other behind, propping him.

As Hound boggled, the perfectly shaped thighs parted to reveal a glimpse of intricate circuitry – and a very evident valve cover.

Hound gasped, his gun arm falling to his side. Mirage’s possible allegiances were abruptly forgotten “I uh – I thought there’d be Decepticons!” he heard himself mumble.

He retracted the gun. He felt suddenly stupid - really stupid. How could he think that of Mirage? How long had Mirage been an Autobot?  And even if doubts had lingered, the blue and white form left him too lightheaded to do anything but grin lopsidedly and surge with desire. He was – perfect!

“The Cons have long retreated,” Mirage said smoothly. “Why – were you hoping for some – action?”

“Yeah – uh …”  Hound felt weak. Heat ripped through him. Those thighs! They were _exquisite!_ And that aft, all neat and blue on the rock. And that slim waist and nosecone….

Energy exploded within Hound, his interface connections seething. He wanted to stride over there and grab Mirage; explore that body and then frag him winderfully, relentlessly, deeply - in every way he’d imagined. How could he have ever thought anything else?

Yet in Hound’s processor there lingered a semblance of himself, his responsibilities. “Where – where are the others?” he stammered.

Mirage stretched, slowly, all lithe glinting blue panels and lightly squeaking metal. Then he hopped off the rock, a broad smirk spreading over his face. “They had to go, unfortunately!” he said. “But I said I’d stay behind; said I’d – check things out.” Sauntering over, he stood before Hound, hand on hip, grinning. “Now you’re here, you’ll just have to give me a hand!”

The universe swam. The scent of priceless alloys blended with Earth scents, the soft rush of the river melding with the swish of the trees, the calls of Earth birds, and the soft rustle of Mirage’s plates. Mirage came closer. “How does that sound, Hound?”

Hound ‘s optics offlined. He swayed. Mirage’s alloys blasted his olfactories again and his thoughts flitted back to the cave, to the image of Mirage bent before him, his valve hot and inviting, of pounding him again and again. He heard his own intakes rasping;  his spike throbbed, huge and straining against its cover.  

There was a touch to his grill, a finger tracing down his front, sparks crackling along the electric trail in its wake. And then the scented alloys enveloped him, smooth cockpit glass against his chest, hot breath on his neck cords. “Oh pit,” Hound wailed as he struggled to keep his spike retracted. Mirage moved closer, and Hound’s hands found his shoulders, warm rubber tyres squeezing under his touch as unable to stop himself, he mouthed at Mirage’s neck.

"Oh pit …” he murmured. He needed this. He _so_ needed this. He was putty in the mech’s hands. His resistance? It was zero.

But Mirage pulled back, tantalizingly. Hound’s optics onlined, his body reeling at the sudden withdrawal. He grabbed at Mirage - but a hand pressed against his chest, holding him back with a lightness yet incredible strength. “Don’t you think we should be taking this slowly?” Mirage said.

‘NO!’ Hound wanted to utter. But then the scene seemed to close around them again, and Hound felt hot panels against him, lips on his neck, biting at his neck cords, fingers in his grill. He threw his head back, his hands clutching metal as Mirage pressed closer and a hiss of pleasure escaped the Alpha vocalizer. Hound moaned. Then he straightened. In one movement he folded Mirage in his arms, mouthing at the top of his helm. He pulled him close, his spike housing against the smooth panels  as the tip of Mirage’s nosecone dug wonderfully in.

"What do you want, Hound?" Hands were all over him, tracing seams, under his plating. 

“Oh Primus!” Hound gasped as his legs parted.  His hips bucked involuntarily. He needed his spike out; hell - overload was just around the corner. And he needed _that._ He thrust against Mirage, grinding his crotch against the Alphamech’s. But Mirage drew back again.

Then Hound heard  laughter, onlined his optics to see the blue optics mocking, a teasing smile on Mirage’s lips. Immediately, charge screamed through;  and now Hound wanted to silence that laughter, to shove Mirage down, to possess him, to fuck him right here; fuck him mercilessly, right where they stood.

Yet that distant tug of ‘normality’ set warnings nagging in Hound’s processor.  He _couldn’t_ do that. It was against his basic programming. Besides, this spot was just too – open.

“Frag!” he drove his fist into his thigh with a loud clang.

“Come …” Mirage was poised and gesturing. The Alphamech extended his hand, and Hound saw an enclave between some rocks, with a solid floor. “Over there, yeah!” Hound rasped. “I want you over there!”

“Wherever you like,” Mirage whispered. “As long as you do it now ….”

Hound could not contain his need now. Mirage’s hand in his was blue fire. As he hauled Mirage in the direction of the rocks he panted, every circuit throbbing, every interface point and part he possessed priming in readiness.   

A breeze had sprung up and a nearby belt of trees sighed in unison. Stumbling, half sobbing with the need to consummate his so long pent up desires, Hound surrendered to it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know its been a long time. I hope this was worth waiting for ....
> 
> Mirage and Hound get it together - but it's not going to be without problems, and, I fear, a sparkbroken minibot and other angry minibots.
> 
> Rated NC17 as this contains previous *warnings* for sticky sex of the explicit variety.

Feet slipping on the hot surface, Mirage allowed himself to be pulled to the rocks.

The Alphamech was delighted. The tracker’s heavy feet pounded the gravel, the hand gripping Mirage’s tight enough to crush the fingers.  His intakes came in desperate gasps, his body radiating heat and energy. And that codpiece! It was bulging like a nuclear reactor about to reach ‘critical.’

Mirage just _knew_ that spike would not disappoint – and he couldn’t wait to get it inside him.

Hound hauled him forward. Such strength! Mirage’s systems went into full interface readiness, his valve aching for the pounding it was going to get.

And to make things even better, Mirage could sense Hound’s  confusion. Thrilling aggression, even violence, lay just beneath that calm green exterior - but Autobot manners and bondmate loyalty warred with it, warred with lust. It was heightening his frustrations in just such a way as could turn the whole ecstatic experience into an even greater thrill.

Yes - Hound was definitely living up to expectations. Decepticons you got this kind of thing with; but not usually an Autobot. The waiting had been worthwhile.  

Devilish thoughts still ran through Mirage’s processor. _Why not push him even further?_

Of course, _stirring Hound up_ could make things a little – dangerous. But hell. Why not? Mirage squeed inside. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t handle himself; wouldn’t LOVE having to do that under these circumstances.

Mirage ground to a halt, dust rising from the loose surface.  He assumed a pained expression. “You know – I’m still not absolutely certain about this,” he drawled. “This – _venue._ It wasn’t quite what I had in mind!”

Hound jerked to a halt, heaving, his expression one of incredulity. ”W-What?” he stammered.  Then his optics flashed angrily, like back there when he’d thumped his thigh.

Mirage glanced at the dinted thigh. He could glimpse that side again that almost made him wonder if Hound had ever been tempted to be a Con.  Almost immediately, however, a look of almost remorse came over him. The _other_ side of the Tracker.

“Oh – I’m sorry – I er …” he stammered. Hungrily, longingly, his optics fixed on Mirage’s frame. And _\- oh no, surely not -_ it appeared that his polite, considerate Autobot self, the one which undoubtedly appealed to the lumbering bondmate, would prevail.

 _Nooo_ – that wasn’t what Mirage had intended. He acted quickly; zipping out an energy flare and posturing in a way he knew showed off his lithe body and allowed circuitry to peep form under his leg seams. He raised an optic ridge. “Well I don’t know,” he said. “I was more inclined towards a berth, myself. But on the other hand …”

Birds wheeled above, the scents of the lagoon mingled with mech fluids. Hound squirmed, torn for a moment.  For an anxious moment Mirage feared that righteousness had won. But he flared his field again, and YESS! Hound’s face darkened with unbridled lust.

“Hell!” the tracker rasped, his optics burning a furious deep turquoise.  And although niceties still warred with base tendencies, he was _\- oh joy_ \-  unable to stop himself. “Well, come on then! I’ve been wanting this since Teletraan One onlined us,” he snarled.

Renewed urgency surged from his grip as he pulled Mirage the last few steps.

Mirage, rapt at this wonderfully informative revelation about the tracker’s inner nature, did not try to resist again. In fact he gave in completely -  because hell, he didn’t want to wait for it any more either...

 _You’re about to get what your bondmate can’t give you,_ he mused. _And you’re going to be blown away my friend._

The Alphamech exalted. This was beyond his best expectations.

…………………

The Autobots rolled along. Cliffjumper could see dimly, through the dust, the bulk of Optimus Prime grinding at the convoy head along the desert track.  Behind him, the Autobots followed, Ratchet bearing the injured Ironhide and flanked by Jazz and Prowl, whilst the twins came behind them. Every now and then they zig zagged with Bluestreak, showing off and exuberant.

The general comm frequency revealed excited talk about Bluestreak’s victory and Ironhide’s bravery, undoubtedly rendered more poignant by the non reappearance of the Decepticons. But Cliffjumper, in the customary Minibot position along with his cousins, felt nothing but misery. _Mirage wasn’t here._

Closer to him, the minibots were far from quiet - much as Gears and Brawn disapproved of ‘inane chatter.’  Which was annoying, as all Cliffjumper wanted was to _tune out_ the bigger bots and wallow in his own melancholy. But he was not getting the chance.

“Of course, it’s a pity that the explosion blew all the ruby crystals to smithereens,” Bumblebee was gabbling. Apparently undeterred by his capture and rescue, he’d declined his usual position with the leaders and fallen back to travel with his own kind. The humans were with Optimus Prime.

“We oughtta be thankful,” Gears growled. “No telling what woulda gone down if Megatron hadda ….”

“The crystals weren’t all they were cracked up to be anyway,” Bumblebee cut in knowledgeably. “I did an analysis in there, and the energy concentrate component was really only a fraction of what Megatron said it was. So there you are.”

“Yeah!” Windcharger said bravely. “Trust the Decepticreeps to get it wrong again.”

“It must have still been scary in there,” Huffer said nervously.”

“Yeah! It was it was kinda good Mirage was there when Prime got hit by that bomb. It was him who helped with the analysis, actually, and told Prowl and Jazz where we were. Its funny how he seemed to have disappeared by the time they got there.”

Cliffjumper felt his inner workings turn to jelly. His engine stuttered, revving hard - yet at the same time his mood soared. The one who had saved the day - it was _him!_

Yes - it was Mirage! That was why he’d gone, outside the mountain, to rescue Bee and the human and destroy the crystals.  Everyone said he wasn’t a dedicated Autobot. But he was!

Memories of the night before came flooding back. If only Mirage was here now! Then Cliffjumper could roll proudly beside him, and talk about all this, and even Gears wouldn’t have a word to say because Mirage would be a hero. If only Cliffjumper hadn’t succumbed to the pressure from his peers, had elected to stay behind at the lagoon …

“Ouch! Hey – watch it …” There was a clang as Cliffjumper banged against Huffer. It was followed by a squeal of brakes as he had to pull hard left to avoid swerving off the track. There was momentary silence on the comm frequency; and then laughter broke out among those just ahead, who of course had seen everything in their rear view mirrors.

“Settle down Autobots!” Prowl’s warning came through loud and clear.

“That hurt!” Huffer said crossly.

“Sorry …” Cliffjumper muttered. He was; yet even so, he could not keep the joy from his voice. _Mirage is a hero. And he thinks I’m special …_

“Say – this hasn’t been such a bad day after all,” he ventured. But a stony silence had descended among the minibots. Cliffjumper imagined it wasn’t all to do with Huffer.

“Lets just concentrate on getting back to base, shall we?” Gears growled.

…………………

Now they were out of view, lust overwhelmed Hound. For a moment there, more doubts had whirled through his processor. The desire to have Mirage had again consumed him, painful in its intensity - but it was tinged with guilt. It wasn’t just Trailbreaker. How could he take Mirage by force. What had he been thinking?

Mirage, of all mechs. An Alphamech! One of Cybertron’s former rulers; hell, on Cybertron he could even have been _court-martialled_ for such a thing.

An apology had even been on Hound’s lip components – yet he hadn’t quite uttered one. But it wasn’t needed. As soon as they’d reached the rocks, Mirage had looked at him and said: _“I want you …”_

And that was all the confirmation Hound needed. Pulling Mirage into his arms, he kissed him with all the urgency of one who has been stranded in the desert and comes across a well of cool, energising liquid; so much had he wanted to do that, for so long.

Hound pressed against Mirage, feeling for the first time the length of his body. His spike throbbed hard, as the whole of the Alphamech’s magnificent alloys stretched against him. By the time he’d kissed him thoroughly for a good few clicks, Mirage was venting heavily. Oh yes – this was how Hound wanted things. Spotting a flat, clean slab of rock, he steered Mirage over to it. Venting hard himself, he pushed Mirage down on to it.

Hound stood over him, unable to stop his fans whirring madly as he stared at the mech on the rock. He might have stared for a while, transfixed by Mirage’s stunning frame and alloys – but Mirage was moving; slowly, sensuously. He opened his legs to reveal his valve cover. It was fully open.

Hound's circuits surged as he caught a glimpse of the exquisitely crafted channel. His head swam as Mirage fingered the rim of his valve, intakes hitching in obvious pleasure as a trickle of fluid oozed out. That was it. Hound’s spike emerged, huge and throbbing. “Oh pit, I’ve got to …” He barely recognized his own voice.

Mirage’s optics were shining. He wriggled in front of Hound and, reaching up, ran his hand down the shaft of Hound’s spike. _Oh Primus!_ Hound stiffened, only able to savour the sensations for a few clicks – then he could not wait. He lowered himself on to Mirage, whimpering at the feel of the cockpit glass, the nosecone digging into him as he pressed his body down, angling his hips to push his spike against that _oh so ready_ valve.

And it was a sacred cave into which Hound slid deeply, fully. The bliss as he penetrated its far reaches! This was like nothing he remembered before. He strained forward, whimpering, energy rising and almost spilling into overload before he clamed himself and reduced the urge to a flare of his EM field.

The other so-beautiful mech glowed hotly beneath him – then Mirage smiled. That had taken the edge away for both of them, and they could now _enjoy._ They read each others optics. “Fuck me,” Mirage whispered. “Fuck me hard. I need you – badly.”

 _“You bet,”_ Hound could hardly form the words.

Then Mirage legs were around Hound’s waist, and hands were holding Hound’s aft. Hound clutched at the smooth blue and white thighs, hoisting them up, helping the legs wrap around him. Hound’s spike hardened to a rigid throbbing megalith. He raised his hips; then pounded in.

Straight away, he fucked Mirage relentlessly. He kept on fucking Mirage, marvelling at the synchrony with which they moved, how their charges rose and hovered together at an ecstatic peak. On and on and on, Hound couldn’t have stopped if Optimus Prime himself had appeared above the rock and ordered him to do so.

Heavy venting and clangs from their urgent coupling echoed around the rocky valley. “Oh … you’re … nice ….” Mirage rasped, wriggling somehow to reposition, so as to jerk his hips upward and meet Hound’s thrusts. Hound’s response as he fucked even harder was incoherent.

Hound was close. (How could he not be after that?) But he didn’t _want_ it to end yet. He wanted to _see …._

He slowed, steam hissing out from his grill. Lifting himself on his hands, he looked down. His spike was huge, plunging into the depths of Mirage with each action of his powerful hips like a piston. Hound pushed the impressive organ in and pulled it out and pushed it in again, out and in, out and in, relishing the glorious sight, the sounds of smooth metal sliding, the scent of transfluid and delicious velvety textures.

Mirage was looking down too. He had his spike just showing, an exquisite little bulge of super sensitive nodes. Hound watched as he brought his hand round and touched it before arching back, his valve clamping around the spike as Hound shuttered his optics, moaning at the sheer pleasure of what he'd just seen.

Mirage pulled Hound down and pressed up against him, urging him to go again. Hound needed no encouragement. The universe went hazy and he knew he couldn’t last.

Metal squealed as he pushed deep into Mirage again, feeling every node in the smooth valve rippling against his spike. “I’m sorry, he gasped. “I can’t hold on …” and even as he said it, the urge to thrust overcame him. Raising his hips, he cannoned into Mirage hard. He would have him, possess  him, Mirage was _his …._ “Frag,” he whimpered, this is it …”

The valve spasms from every thrust reverberated into his core. “It is,” Mirage said. ”It is, oh yes, oh please _just go for it Hound….”_

The last thing Hound saw before he offlined his optics was his lover's contorted face. Four or five thrusts and he came, violently. “Oh frag, oh frag, oh frag, oh YEAH!” he cried as copious hot jets spurted into his lover.

Even as the most universe shattering spasms he’d ever had from an interface rocked him, pulsing through his core and spike and very being, Hound reflected that he hardly even cared that the cries from their combined overload must have practically  been heard all the way to the Ark.

…………………

“Hey, I just realized something!” Bumblebee was slowing down. “I managed to sample one of those crystals. Pretty it was. But darn it, I left it back at that lagoon. I kinda intended keeping it as a souvenir. Hell – I gotta go back!”

The silence Cliffjumper had craved had become oppressive, the presence of Gears and Brawn  like a portent of doom. Even the front runners had gone quiet. He couldn’t just stay in this _boring_ convoy, he just _couldn’t._  No - he needed to be with his cousin, to be away from the sulking Huffer, from reproach and disapproval.

Above all, Mirage could be still there …

Yes – and Cliffjumper ached to be near him; near his hero. He needed to _show_ Mirage how wonderful he was, how much he adored him. Besides which, Bumblebee could do with some protection. Yes, he could! Just in case the Decepticons came back.

“I’ll come with you!” Turning, he sped after Bumblebee, ignoring Brawn’s angry orders of “Cliffjumper? You get right back here right now!”

…………………..

Mirage was not a fan of undue noise. He was also something of a connoisseur when it came to his own body, and ordinarily able to hold back until  the ‘right’ moment.  But the expression on Hound’s face, his urgency with which Hound wanted to fuck him, the relief on his face at finally doing that now; Mirage found himself - as with the first time -  coming hard before he could stop. And being very vocal about the strength of his release.

He clutched at Hound’s grill, offlining his optics as he went over the crest and powerful waves of overload engulfed him. Hound kept thrusting in time with the waves, seemingly unable to stop either. “Oh yes, yes,” he murmured and for a moment they floated on a crest of sheer ecstasy. But then the waves began to die down and Hound collapsed on Mirage, venting hard.

“Oh mech, was that the best, or was it?” he gasped. “I thought the first time was good, but this is all just getting better!”

Mirage had recovered enough to squeeze his aft, playfully. “I call it _all_ a good start,” he panted, tracing lines down the tracker’s seams with the other hand and reflecting that he really did _like_ this mech - in many different ways.

He pushed Hound off, and the tracker rolled on to his back, laughing, fluid gleaming on his still erect spike. Despite having had two overloads in a row, the sight of that appendage - which Mirage swore was reaching parts of him he’d never even known about - was enough to set Mirage’s charge rising again.

“I think I’d like to try it on top,” he said. And before there could be any protest he moved to straddle his lover and was kissing him hard, his valve grinding against Hound’s magnificent pleasure giving shaft.

It hadn’t disappointed….

………………

“You didn’t have to come you know,” Bee said, rolling along the rocky track nearing the lagoon ahead of Cliffjumper. “And I know why you did.”

Bee had ‘gone quiet’ on the short trip back here. And Cliffjumper had known – just known - that he had been busy working out how to come out with something like this.

“I fancied a break from the pack,” he said lamely.

“You fancied finding out of a certain Alphamech was still at the lagoon,” Bumblebee’s exhaust emitted a loud sigh. “Oh how I wish you wouldn’t run after him, Cliffjumper!”

“I am not!” Cliffjumper snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous Bee – he’s probably long gone!”

He tried to sound full of righteous indignation. How he wished that were true! But Bee must not know how nervous he was getting, or that he was filled with sickening dread that had started invading his processor because – he could not deny it – Hound _hadn’t_ been on the convoy.  

 _I mustn’t think like that. I must – trust him._ Cliffjumper told himself. _In fact, this is a good exercise. Mirage won’t be there and it just means he’s gone off again to do more good Autobot duties. Hound is back with Trailbreaker. That’s why he didn’t turn up during the battle._

Yet so terrified was he that this were _not_ the case that grease was oozing from his engine mountings, dripping down over his motor – which was running decidedly ‘rough.’

“Listen!” Bumblebee pulled up sharply. A scanner emerged from his roof. “There’s – something going on down there …” He was silent. Then his frame gave a little shudder. “Oh!”

“What?” Cliffjumper tried to sound genuinely curious. But really, he couldn’t keep the stricken panic from his voice. “Decepticons?” he added fiercely. “If that’s them, then I’m gonna shoot their afts right from here to Cybertron …”

“No – it isn’t – no; I think I made a mistake,” Bumblebee sounded a weird cross between awkward and excited. “I can get this later. Let’s go back.”

And every molecule in Cliffjumper’s frame and systems told him he should do just that. But he just – _couldn’t._ He had to _know._ He pushed past Bee and sped down the track, tyres squealing as gears crunched in the warm Earth air.

“Cliffjumper!” Bumblebee cried, speeding after him. _Oh no – now what?_ The yellow minibot despaired. _I’m a special ops agent, not a relationships counsellor._

…………

Being on top had been excellent, the spike even bigger and more filling, plumbing new depths and making Mirage shiver and cry out; especially when Hound had stopped moving and pulled him around in a circular motion, making their charges go screaming up, up until he’d relented and thrust up, fucking Mirage hard.

Oh yes – and the resulting tumultuous overload was no less intense than the other two. But Mirage wasn’t done yet. He wanted it his _favourite_ way. And with Hound just confessing that doing him from behind had formed the subject matter of some very on-turning fantasies, Mirage needed it that way NOW.

A little more foreplay didn’t hurt though – and he still straddled Hound. The magnificent spike rose between them, a pulsing monument to pleasure. Mirage ran his hand up and down it, loving how Hound whimpered and squirmed.

His own spike tip tingled and his valve widened and wettened in anticipation. It was as though his interface equipment  had a life of its own, and  could not get enough.

“You want to put that in how we said?” Mirage teased.

Hound’s husky, strangled _“ye-e-ssss”_ was barely audible in response.

But there was something else; a most annoying ‘something.’ Mirage paused, and accentuated his audios. The noise of engines had come clearly into range, accompanied by crashing gears and the sound of a voice, shouting.

Damn! Mirage wanted sex again so badly that he was all for pretending he hadn’t heard it. But Hound was not of similar persuasion. He stopped moving, his spike freezing in Mirage’s hand.

“There’s somebody coming!” he gasped.

“That,” Mirage sighed, “is obvious.” The noise was closer now; close enough to read a signature. And one signature was very clear. Cliffjumper’s.

 ................

Hound froze. _What I’ll do if I see you two at it ain’t a patch on what he’ll do if he sees it_. Trailbreaker’s words came back. And whilst Hound was considerably larger than Cliffjumper, and probably a lot more impervious to damage than his bond mate had reckoned, Hound had seen enough of the red minibot in action to know the likely pain from him making an attempt.

“We have to get up,” he pushed at Mirage, his spike already semi retracting.

But that wasn’t happening. The strength which pinned him was extraordinary – and thrilling in its intensity. “We aren’t going anywhere,” Mirage drawled.

There was a click, and Hound shuddered as the electromagnetic wave swept through his systems.

//There you are – we’re invisible,// Mirage commed. //Not even our signatures are detectable. Now – where were we?//

Already, his hand was stroking at Hound’s retreating spike, coaxing it back out. Despite the feeble battle that Hound put up, the racer succeeded. A groan issued from his vocaliser.

//Careful,// Mirage chortled down the comm. //We’re invisible. Not sound proofed. So we have to do this very slowly and quietly. We’ll have to settle for it this way again but I want to fuck you so much I’m half overloading already – so I’m sure we can make do for now.//

Hound’s groan, directed this time into the comm, came out as a warbled mess of sound.

…………….

“There’s somebody here!” Cliffjumper had pulled out his gun and was casting around, a menacing look on his face.

He was right. There was. Bee knew exactly what he’d picked up back there on the track. And he was still picking it up now; for from over by the rocks came the subtle sound of metal sliding on metal, punctuated by very faint moans of pleasure.

It was sheer luck that his audio receptors were considerably more sensitive than Cliffjumper’s – although the same could not be said for his olfactories. Bumblebee knew that the unmistakable scents of grease and transmech fluid and just sheer sex – and darn it, did it have to be so _obvious –_ that wafted on the breeze would be much more discernible to the red minibot.

And thank Primus for the breeze, which had sprung up like a portent of luck as they entered the lagoon area. For it meant Cliffjumper had misread the faint whiffs - which was all they had been to start with. He was headed off towards the waters edge, in the opposite direction from where the sounds were coming.

And maybe it was that Cliffjumper didn’t _want_ to go in the direction of the sounds - as if he knew something, and didn't want to face it. Whatever the case, his quest was taking him away. The stream trickling into the lagoon down there would mean that Cliffjumper couldn’t hear the sounds – which were getting decidedly more urgent.

Bumblebee knew he shouldn’t listen. He _really_ shouldn’t. No - he should be simply getting his crystal, and then getting Cliffjumper the heck out of here as fast as possible.  Well – now, where was the crystal? Just over there by those rocks. Oh well – Bee couldn’t help that it was right where the source of the noise was, could he?

The minibot hesitated. Oh no, he _definitely_ shouldn’t listen. Nor should he be finding the hiss of aroused intakes along with the faint rhythmic clanging, the little grunts and moans to be _exquisite._ And he should be activating his anti-arousal sequences to depressurize his fast pressurizing spike right now, to stop it absolutely from pushing against the cover in the way that it was; to stop his pelvis from tingling wildly, his valve from leaking lubricant into his pelvic cavity …..

But when you thought about it, Hound was a sexy fragger and Mirage was just gorgeous, and everyone had noticed the way Hound gawped at him just about with his spike hanging out and the thought of them doing it here was - oh Primus -  a REAL TURN ON!

More noises. Bumblebee felt weak. His hand strayed to his codpiece and he rubbed it hard, really wanting to open it. But then he remembered that he didn’t know exactly where they were, and Mirage was an illusor, and it would make perfect sense to use the electro disruptor here, and that he might not be able to see them but _they sure as hell would be able to see him …._

Bumblebee whipped his hand away – just as the unmistakable voice of Hound muttered: “Oh frag, I’m so deep …” and another equally recognizable drawl whispered. “Sshhhh….just fuck me …”

“Oh Primus …” Bumblebee groaned.

He hoped they _couldn’t_ see him.

………..

//Oh Primus, its Bumblebee .…// Hound’s hips stopped grinding up against Mirage, his spike retracting slightly as the tracker came to a halt.

Mirage seethed in frustration. He had been _right_ on the brink, _right_ on the edge of tipping into one of those long drawn out, ‘quiet’ type overloads that one had to have when noise was not appropriate and restraint was called for. The type he actually rather _liked …._

//He can’t see us. Have faith!// he snapped.

//But he’s looking right AT us. He senses something. He’s – _oh frag …..//_

//Sensing is not seeing, my dear Hound …// Mirage looked up; then burst into snickers at the sight of the minibot, who’d just been touching himself, obviously wanted to do it again and looked an interesting combination of extremely awkward and about to pass out with frustration.

//Its not funny!// Hound snapped. But  Mirage leaned down and kissed him, rolling his glossa around the inside of Hound’s mouth and along his lips in just the way that -  Mirage had discovered after a very short time – really got Hound going. It had the desired effect. Hound’s spike grew again inside him, and it began to throb with inevitable pulses of pent up energy.

//Oh Mirage, I don’t know …// Hound moaned. But he wanted to. Oh by _Primus_ he wanted to.

And so did Mirage. But the minibot was still there, and Mirage was forced to concede that the tracker had a point. It _was_ a bit offputting having Bumblebee hovering; and if they both overloaded in the way they had earlier after all – well – Mirage hardly thought they would stay a secret.

And where the heck was Cliffjumper? Mirage thought of Gears and Brawn, the solid fists and reputation of the latter. No – it was worth waiting to avoid that. Besides which, now that Mirage’s systems had settled again, the frustrated mech beneath him was a beauty to behold. He would explode when Bumblebee went away. How much better to wait for that.

//Mirage?// Hound whimpered.

//Perhaps we had better just wait until he moves on. Be very still.// Mirage said.

//Oh frag, make up your mind!// Hound wailed. //I’ll try, but my circuits feel like they're gonna burst!//

……….

Bumblebee was sure they were on that big flat rock ahead. Above it the air seemed to shimmer, as though disturbed. But although his spike bulged unbearably, and he really wanted more than _ever_ now to get it out and self service like crazy, his Autobot programming kicked in sharply. That would just not be – decent.

No – the right thing to do was to get away from here and then find somewhere on the way back that he could re-live the delicious sounds and their connotations, and relieve himself unfettered by Autobot concepts of ‘doing the right thing.’

And in fact – well hey ….

A cheeky smile crossed Bumblebee’s faceplates. Maybe he could persuade Cliffjumper to abandon this silly obsession he had in favour of some interfacing with himself. They were, after all only distantly related …..

_“Bumblebee …?”_

There was Cliffjumper, calling now. A glint of red caught Bumblebee’s optic and he moved quickly to grab the crystal, before running fast away form the rocks.

“Nothing back there!” he said cheerfully to Cliffjumper. “And I got it – see? So lets go.”

Cliffjumper didn’t look convinced. There were no sounds at all now, but he glanced suspiciously towards the scene _where it was happening,_ (or at least, where Bee thought it was happening). For one awful moment, Bee thought he must be about to head over there. But then he seemed to give up and his shoulders slumped, dejectedly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Lets get outta here.”

………..

“They’ve gone,” Mirage said. “Go for it!”

Hound needed no persuasion. Digging his heels into the rock, he grabbed Mirage’s hips and thrust up hard, driving in feeling his spike penetrate the length of Mirage’s valve.

Mirage arched back, angling so his nosecone stretched up before Hound, glinting orange in the late sun. Hound grabbed the tip and fucked hard, faster and faster, driven, needing this, having to have Mirage and come hard inside him after that insufferable wait …. 

It took only a short time for Mirage to cry out as spasms wracked his valve, and it clamped around Hound’s spike in yet another series of violent clenches.

That was too much. Hound came, yelling loudly as great bursts of transmech fluid sprayed forcefully out. He kept thrusting, as though his hips were driven by an unseen machine, as glorious relief flooded through him. Fluid spilled down on to his hips and ran away down the rock.

Hound kept holding Mirage’s hips, rocking gently as the overload pulses gradually died down and his spike slowly ceased its throbbing frenzy. Then he felt hands on his grill, fingers teasing through the slats. He opened his optics to see Mirage poised above him blue almond shaped optics glowing bright in his handsome face.

“You are something else,” Hound groaned.

“And so, tracker, are you!”

Hound pulled him down for a kiss, and Mirage obliged - but not for long. He broke away. “I thought you had a penchant for doing it in a certain other way?” he smirked.

The rays of the setting sun cast an orange glow among the rocks as the gentle breeze wafted over Hound’s panels.  Happy beyond all measure, he was already heating as Mirage kissed him again.

This was going to be a long night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings* for explicit sticky/p&p sex, and talk of dubcon sexual interrogation.
> 
> Hound’s never had sex like he's having with Mirage in his life. But does Mirage have his own sinister agenda? Meanwhile, Cliffjumper frets and Trailbreaker is just plain miserable.
> 
> Still following the start of Season 1:)

On the berth in his quarters, Cliffjumper forced his body into stillness.

Beside him, Bumblebee recharged peacefully. With all Cliffjumper's tossing and turning, it was a miracle the other minibot hadn’t onlined. Cliffjumper didn’t want him online – even though the memories from earlier - of what he and Bumblebee had done on the way back - weren't bad at all.

no - quite the contrary. It was just that, no matter which way you looked at it, - Bumblebee wasn’t Mirage.

Mirage! A surge of longing went through Cliffjumper. If only his comm would buzz, and he would hear the familiar drawl. “Sweetspark? Sorry – got a little hung up. I’m on my way there now …”

And then Cliffjumper _would_ wake Bee - gently, He would say that something had ‘come up,’ and it was best that Bee left. Bee would _know,_ would likely be reproachful; but he would be all right about it - because after all, Cliffjumper had made it clear that what they had done was just ‘relief.’ It was a one off.

But time ticked on; and no call came ….

Cliffjumper turned over again. He _must_ stop thinking the worst. He hadn’t seen anything to suggest that Mirage had been with anyone else. And anyway, what if Mirage had? Had he, Cliffjumper, not just been ‘unfaithful’ himself? How could he talk?

And maybe Bee shouldn’t be a ‘one-off.’ Multiple partner situations could be – healthy. Mirage was an Alpha, and that was part of Alpha creed. He and Mirage would have ‘things in common.’

Cliffjumper assimilated that information, banishing straight away the sick feeling in his energon chamber at the thought of the tracker. No - he was not bothered by the prospect. Not at all.

Beside him, Bee let out a little sigh. In the thin light of the quarters, Cliffjumper saw his lip components twist into a smile.

He must be dreaming of ‘earlier.’ And why not? It had been - enjoyable. Cliffjumper had had no idea that Bee would so enjoy being spiked from behind, humped over the trunk of a fallen tree. He had a slick, pouting valve, and was nice and tight too, having obviously not _done it_ as much as Cliffjumper.

With the pleasurable pulses of post overload running through him, Cliffjumper had felt satiated – and quite chuffed. It had taken his mind off _certain other mechs_ for a while. Yes – maybe he’d have both Bee and Mirage.

But at that thought, Cliffjumper’s spark pained. Again it came back to one thing. _Bee wasn’t Mirage._ And Mirage was special; had said that he, Cliffjumper, was _special…_

Cliffjumper felt suddenly stifled, and he burned with desire to see Mirage, who surely must be back on the base by now?  Had he not said, back at the mountain, that there would be ‘more of the same’ later?

_Or what if something had happened?_

Now that was a very valid concern. Prowl didn’t like Mirage. What if Prowl had just left him out there to get captured or something?

Hell - Mirage might need Cliffjumper just as much as he needed Mirage.  There was no time to waste! Getting up as quietly as he could, the red minibot tip-toed from the room.

 .........................

Mirage onlined with a start. But it took him no time at all to realize where he was; in the desert, by the lagoon, stretched out on a rock and with the tracker on his back beside him.

The moon had risen. The rocks loomed around, a collection of hulks casting misshapen shadows; but where they lay was bathed in pale light. Stars glowed faintly in the Earth night sky.

The wind had dropped. Save for the distant trickling of the waterfall at the lagoon below, there was no sound. Mirage turned his head to look admiringly at the green mech beside him.

Hound lay with one leg knee bent, a light steam rising from his grill as his intakes sighed. His hands rested on his midsection. Below them, the large codpiece gleamed in the moonlight. Mirage smiled. It - _he_ \- certainly was quite a specimen. Mirage had certainly scored this time.

A squawking filled the air, emanating from the bushes nearer to the lagoon. Mirage tensed, half sitting. But it was only a bird, which flapped its way away into the night.  Blasted Earth creatures! That must have been what had disturbed Mirage from his very pleasant recharge after the session of passion that had taken up …. _how much of their time?_

Resuming his supine position, Mirage stared at the sky. He did a quick calculation. They’d been in recharge for approximately two Earth hours, which meant that, _how long had they been at it for?_ That first couple of times had been long before the sun had set behind the outcrop and the moon had appeared.

And Mirage could still feel every instant of it. His relays throbbed warmly, his valve hurting in the nicest possible way as he ran a delightful recall of every kiss, suck and stroke - and every thrust of every penetration. His ceiling node tingled, currents of pleasure shooting into his core at the memory of being stretched, wonderfully, that mighty spike reaching exactly where he’d needed it; into him from every angle, below, above, behind ….

Ah the memories! They were exquisite. The best time had been the second to last; Mirage’s _favourite_ position (on all fours). Hound had once more reached a point where he was so full of charge it was clearly painful; but he had had several overloads by then, so it wasn’t so easy to get off as it had been at the start of their ‘encounter.’

That meant he’d had to really _go at it_ \- but before they got too far into the proceedings, Mirage had pushed Hound out and turned around, pulling out the tracker’s conventional interface connector and plugging it in. That way, he would really _feel_ the desperation – and Primus, how good it _had_ felt when Hound had plunged once again into his aching valve?

And Mirage had raised his aft and shifted to get the best angle – but Hound had needed no ‘extra enticements.’ He had grabbed Mirage’s hips and lifted them and _fucked_ him relentlessly, energy and lust streaming through the connection. Mirage had ended up on his forearms, his face scraping the rock.

What a position! Mirage had even managed to fondle his own partly emerged spike as Hound got more and more frantic, more and more _violent_ in the pursuit of his relief….

So much so that and he’d darned nearly pushed Mirage into the rock itself. Mirage’s face was grazed and his screen now sported a crack. But DARN it had been good; and Mirage had been right up there, just ready to go over the edge, on the point of screaming with need and charge and unspent lust …

He’d only just managed to hold on until Hound exploded ….

Hound had bellowed as he’d come, Mirage’s own relief adding to the sounds echoing in the dim light. When the intensity and white light and static had passed and Hound had pulled out and flopped beside him, they’d rolled around, giggling with euphoria that came with a really good overload; although Primus, Mirage couldn’t remember himself being so unrestrained. He hadn’t even minded when they’d wound up in the dirt beside the rock.

“Let’s wash off, c’mon …” Hound had laughed. And that was another curious thing, because Mirage hated water ordinarily – well – anything other than the near boiling stream of a well serviced washrack. Yet he’d allowed Hound to lead him down to the lagoon where they’d cavorted for a while like mechlings, splashing each other and falling around, giggling lots more.

Until they both got turned on again. Then Hound had pushed him to the bank and grabbed his wrists, entered him and fucked him slowly, sensuously, the water slapping gently against them as they rocked to and fro.

Overload this time was slow and hard and deep and went on and on and on …

But this time it had drained the last of their energy. It had been as much as they could do to stagger back up the shore, arms around each other, and to the rocks where they collapsed on the site of their previous passions.

Mirage turned on to his side to look at Hound again. He felt wide awake and wonderfully rested. Despite the soreness in his valve, he was inclined to fondle the tracker’s codpiece. It would be such fun to get that spike out and watch him online as it pressurized. Mirage would maybe bring him to a jerking, spasming overload with his hand, before he got the tracker to _stroke_ his valve into releasing his charge; the one that was now climbing rapidly ….

 _Ooh yes – think I need another overload._ Mirage stretched out his hand – just as the noise sounded.

This time, it wasn’t an Earth creature. There was a rustling, as of _mechly_ movement; and now there was a signature. _A Decepticon signature._

With hardly a sound, Mirage sprang to a crouch and activated the disruptor shield over himself and Hound. Releasing his arm canon with a slight click, he set it to maximum charge.

He noted that the power was down on the disruptor. With all that had happened he’d forgotten to charge it. Damn! He’d have to do that if they were to stay like this for long – but it could wait; as three shadowy figures had just flitted into view.

“Too late!” they said in unison “We saw you Mirage, we know you’re there. We’re alone, and we ain’t gonna hurt you, we just wanna talk. Soundwave sent us."

“Yeah we saw your mechfriend,” one of them giggled. “And if you come now his bondmate won't know – we promise.” They all tittered in unison.

 _Reflector._ Mirage groaned inwardly. There would have been photos, for sure. Damn the Decepticons! He took one last longing look at the bulge on between Hound’s legs. Primus their timing _sucked._

"Give me a moment,” he hissed. "And get away from here you morons - you'll wake him."

“We’ll see you down by the water,” Viewfinder said. The three took off and flitted out of view.

 Mirage stroked Hound’s face. “Soon, sexy,” he whispered. “Here - you can charge this for me …”

 What a good idea. Mirage could handle the triplets easily without the disruptor if need be, and this would conserve his energy – just in case.

Unhitching the device, he clicked the charge lead into Hound’s wrist connector. Then he switched his communicator to Old Towers language which the triplets, being Alpha caste themselves – even if they were _deposed_ Alpha caste  because of their multiple form – would understand.

It would not do to be overheard.

....................

“Cliffjumper, I can’t just let you walk out of here – I’m sorry! Its too much of a security risk. Now if you go back to your quarters now, I won’t tell Brawn.”

The patronizing aft! Cliffjumper never had liked Red Alert at the best of times. So full of rules and regulations, and yet when it came to really important things – like _going out there and fighting_ – he hadn’t even shown his face.

Too busy crouched over his security gear. Which never worked properly anyway.

But the minibot managed to keep his cool. “I just need some fresh air,” he said. “Other mechs go out there for that. I won’t leave the mountain – I promise.”

 _“Other mechs_ are not minibots. Its too dangerous…”

The aft. He was doing this deliberately. He liked the power. It was all part of his stupid inferiority complex. But Cliffjumper knew his rights. “That’s discrimination!” he snapped. “Just you wait till I tell Gears. He’s gonna tell you to take your _security risk_ and shove it right up your…”

“It’s all right Red Alert, he can come with me.” Cliffjumper felt a gentle hand on his arm; saw the outraged fire that had appeared in the security chief’s optics simmer and die down.

“I was about to take a stroll out there myself,” the blue mech said. “I have the force field generator. Now I think you’ll agree Red Alert, that’s more than enough to look after both of us?”

Trailbreaker. What a lucky break – Cliffjumper’s spirits rose at once. He could not only get out of here, he could ask the mech about Hound, see if there was any news….

But the big blue mech sounded tired; and Cliffjumper saw to his dismay that Trailbreaker looked positively ragged. His ordinarily proud, tall posture had deteriorated to a stoop. The navy blue paintwork seemed faded. Under his optics were dark pools.

Red Alert was regarding them both.  For a long, hard moment his optics blazed, a piercing cobalt blue. “Very well,” he said eventually - though he looked unhappy. “But you stay within comm reach - do you understand me?”

 _You’ll be lucky,_ Cliffjumper thought.

..................

“So you see we just wanted to let you know that Soundwave wants Ravage back. And that if you let her go, he’ll find a place for you on the spacecruiser. You should be grateful, Mirage. Rumble wanted to come. You really think he’d have let you and your friend back there just keep lying on that rock…”

“Yes, yes all right!” Mirage snapped. He supposed it was better than he and Hound having to dodge chasms in the ground and falling rocks. “But stop talking in those silly synchronized voices,” he said. “You know perfectly well you can talk individually.”

How it irritated him when they did that! Seeing as how they were still – in a manner of speaking – Alpha caste.

The three looked at each other. Viewfinder cleared his throat. “You know Soundwave won’t go without the cat,” he said. “And its important that we leave on schedule, Mirage. Important for the good of Cybertron. You know this. We all must share in its restoration.”

 _Oh yes,_ Mirage thought. _But in what I have in mind you don’t even figure in the reckonings._

He smiled. “Little problem,” he said, getting up and pacing slowly along the shore of the lagoon. His feet crunched softly in the sand. He turned to them.

“If I let Ravage go, the Autobots will follow you straight to the cruiser. A _mêlée_ will follow – you know how it is. Then _nobody_ will go back to Cybertron. We’ll be stuck in this place …” he gestured around, “For the foreseeable future.”

Although, after tonight, Mirage didn’t think it was quite as bad as he had before. (Did he? Yes he did! What was he thinking?)

Viewfinder had his hand on his hip. The other two triplets flanked him, regarding him with their arms folded. _They still have the fine lines,_ Mirage thought. Their good looks reminded him that Alphas would rule Cybertron again. But a new regime – one more just and tolerant than in the olden times…

 _Damn it, where am I getting these thoughts from?_ _The sooner I get out of here the better._

Yes, he needed to get back to Cybertron, and take _proper_ control. Even if after tonight he was going to miss that tracker and his spike like crazy; and – now he thought about it – the minibot’s tight little valve.

“What about my consorts?” he said, remembering the conversation with Ravage.

The three looked puzzled. “Soundwave didn’t say anything about that,” they said together. “The offer is just to you, Mirage.”

Oh well – he could get them later up there later, once the spacebridge was operational and his dealings with certain Cybertronians complete. For now, he needed to be on that cruiser – and in fact, unhindered by Autobot nonsense and altruism. Yes.

Mirage ignored the sudden pang in his spark, the strange feeling that he really was going to miss more than their ‘equipment.’ Well – as far as the tracker was concerned, at any rate.

The triplets were still standing there. “We need some rocket fuel,” Spectro piped up. Spyglass nodded “Any idea where we can get some?” they all said together.

Mirage rolled his optics. Surely they would have taken care of that?

 _Apparently not._ Lucky he was such a quick thinker. “I think I might just have an idea,” he drawled.

………

On the rock, Hound stirred in the moonlight, memories flowing through his barely conscious processor like a river of sweet ecstasy.

_…the exotic Alpha scent…the rich alloys and perfectly crafted seams…the smooth metal of that blue and white aft and thighs…their quivering at Hound’s touch…  
_

_…the even smoother, softer metal around Mirage’s valve … the valve itself, open and ready.…it clenched and glistened when Hound touched the rim …_

Hound shivered. That valve! A perfect aperture to a cave of sweet promise. He onlined a little more, the memory of being in Mirage invading his thoughts like a divine presence. Whatever else happened in his life from now on, nothing would ever be quite like that first time he had entered him.

And it was just the start; the gateway to bliss. To all the times they had done it today…

_...that last time in the water…Mirage facing him, braced against the rocky bank, his optics piercing and lust filled…Hound’s hands feeling up and down the smooth nosecone and slightly cracked windshield…  
_

_...Mirage feeling him…Hound grasping his wrists and thrusting straight in, pausing to hold himself in deep while Mirage moaned…then  out - in - out –in…the water slap-slapping in time…Mirage’s moans as he braced against the bank, spreading his legs, opening wider, surrendering completely…_

Hound found himself semi online and on his side, facing away from Mirage. His processor was filled with sex thoughts – and he did not dare to turn over as he knew what he would want to do straight away, and Mirage would be recharging. These sleepy thoughts were a nice prelude, anyway. Now, he was thinking about the time before that when Mirage had plugged in…

Oh my! Had that been that one long bout of hard, deep fucking. Hound had relished every time that his spike had slammed into the end of Mirage’s valve; had exalted in how much Mirage had loved it. Hound could not recall a time when he’d gone for so long and with such a furious and desperate build up to climax.

Mirage enjoying his arousal was just the trimming on the oilcake. Hound would have plugged Mirage in too – if he’d even been capable of concentrating on anything other than fucking the mech on the rock as though his life depended on it.

Then there was the time before _that,_ when Mirage had bent over and Hound had massaged his aft, kneading the metal, spreading him, his loins nearly bursting as he watched that valve open. It had wettened. He’d hooked his thumbs into it and stretched the sides. Mirage had been close already – he’d touched the tip of his own partly protracted spike and his energy field had flared, his valve clenching on Hound’s thumbs.   

Oh how Hound loved it when Mirage touched himself! He hadn’t been able to stop. His hand had gone straight to his spike, and he’d grabbed the base and it shoved in. He’d thrust hard – oh so _hard_ \- four or five times then overloaded cataclysmically himself, the voluminous waves that followed crashing in time to Mirage’s own explosive euphoria.

The force of it had been why he’d had to _go so hard_ the next time. Primus – warm tingles went all through Hound - they could _fuck_. Mirage could _take it_. And he, Hound, felt like a supermech. How long had he, in fact, been needing this? Every indication seemed to suggest – a long time.

And now, Hound was fully online. The night air was fresh in his vents. And he needed it again – with a raging urgency. Already his spike throbbed, pressing against its casing. A pang of guilt flashed through his processor at onlining Mirage, but hell! He hadn’t been as horny as this – or as capable  - since before the war. Yes - he was busting to do it again - needed to - right _now …_

With charge rising, he onlined his optics and rolled to his other side – and saw just bare rock. He’d been so _busy_ in his mind he hadn’t even noticed the absence of signature.

“Mirage!” Every synapse jangled as Hound realized more: his guns were put away; none of his weapons were primed and – most worrying of all - the disruptor was attached to his arm. _They had recharged here completely unprotected._

The lustful memories vanished like a scorponox caught in the open and burrowing into sand. What had they been thinking!

A million thoughts of what might have happened rushed through Hound’s processor – and none of them were pleasant. Getting up quickly, he drew out his gun and cast around, setting it to prime and praying it got there soon.

Something was happening down by the lagoon. There were low voices …

Slowly, Hound unfurled his antenna. Then he boosted his audio reception signals. But the language that greeted his audios was not Autobot. It wasn’t even common Cybertronian. It sounded more like one of the high languages - one of those used by Alphas. And it didn’t sound like a conflict situation.

There were no other Alphas among the Autobots. Not yet. Whereas Decepticons…?

 _Mirage: Alpha first; Autobot not by choice. The warnings, the_ rumours _…_

Damn! What was he to do? For let it not be forgotten that Mirage, as well as being sexy, was a highly trained, very skilled killer. It was why he had such a high rank. Despite the rumours.

_But he may not be doing anything untoward. I must find out first._

Hound’s optics fell on the electro disruptor. It had detached from his wrist and was lying on the rock. He knew how to use it. The process was not dissimilar to holographic projection. _It’s low on power, but maybe I can boot it up. I can run it from my projector relay and still leave one hologram here to distract him …._

Hound’s Autobot programming booted up strongly as he crept down the hill, all thoughts but loyalty to his Prime banished from his processor.

…………

“You know, I don’t really need your help!”  Cliffjumper had blurted out as he and Trailbreaker had stepped out of the Ark. “Now if you’d be kind enough to move outta my way, I’ve gotta go back an’ get something I dropped earlier. No big deal!”

But one look at the big blue mech blocking Cliffjumper’s path told him this was out of the question.

“I thought you were just getting some fresh air,” Trailbreaker said.

“That too. I need to rev my engine – so I might as well get this other thing at the same time.”

“Sorry mech – no deal. Red Alert’d have my badge off me.”

He knew, of course, exactly where Cliffjumper has headed. Of that, the minibot was certain.

Cliffjumper considered making a run for it. He decided against that. The forcefield would stop him before he got half way down the mountain. And it wasn’t, either, that Trailbreaker’s voice was steeped with sorrow that went right to Cliffjumper’s spark. Cliffjumper sensed that part the reason Trailbreaker had agreed to escort him was because Trailbreaker didn’t want to be alone.

And _he_ knew why that was. He guessed they did have things in common. “OK, I’ll stick around,” he sighed.

“Good,” Trailbreaker said gently. He turned and took a deep intake, his vents sighing softly as he stared out across the moonlit tops of the pine trees on the slope below, to the vista beyond; and his gaze was directed in the very direction from which they had come that afternoon.

Cliffjumper knew why that was too _._ But this _gloom_ \- it annoyed Cliffjumper the way Trailbreaker had evidently ‘jumped to conclusions.’ After all, they still didn’t know that Hound and Mirage were together (not that it bothered him if they were but they didn’t, did they?) And anyway - what about Cliffjumper’s ‘theory’ – that they were in some kind of trouble?

Yes - that. It was why he was out here, for Primus sake. “I know what’s on your mind, but I don’t know how you can just stand there!” he piped up. “They could be in danger. They could be captives. _Anything_ could have happened.”

But Trailbreaker only hunched, looking even more pained. “You know as well as I do how well those two can look after themselves. Besides, Hound woulda called me somehow, not …” he swallowed, “have his com turned off.”  He shook his head sadly. “I’ve been bonded with Hound for several millennia. Believe me I’d know if he was in trouble.”

Cliffjumper should have felt relieved. He didn’t. Anger flared again. Trailbreaker was such a defeatist! 

“Even if they are all right, you don’t know that they’re doing anything more than just having a friendly chat,” he growled.

At that, Trailbreaker turned his head. Dark, sorrowful optics gazed into Cliffjumper’s. “Look I’m not gonna lecture you ….” He patted the minibot on the shoulder. “Cos I’m sure as heck there’s plenty others have done that. But I know what Mirage is like. And I also know when Hound’s having more than a _chat.”_

Cliffjumper tried to ignore the icy stab that pierced his spark. And the guilt. Hound was Trailbreaker’s lifelong companion, after all – whereas how long had he known Mirage? A few weeks – counting the time before they left Cybertron?

But no! That was not a reason to get so – _uptight_ – about this. On the contrary, it should be a relief.

“Well even if its – you know – more than a chat, then these things happen!” Cliffjumper said haughtily. “Alphas like to have more than one partner. Hound will be back. Just as Mirage will come back to me!” (but why was he now nowhere near as convinced of that as he tried to sound?).

Trailbreaker sighed.  “Well if you can handle it on that basis all well an’ good,” he said. “Cos Hound won’t be the first an’ he won’t be the last…”

“I know that! I accept it.” _It isn’t because I don’t that my spark feels like its gonna break._

“Good …” Trailbreaker’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Cos trouble is, I don’t know if Hound _will_ come back this time.”

………………

“So as I suggested, why don’t you plan an attack on somewhere? But make it phony. I can arrange for Ravage to get away, you can tell her to go there. I’ll see that the Autobots follow.”

Mirage was sure getting tired of doing all the thinking here. Couldn’t Decepticons _do_ that for themselves?

“In the meantime, you can be getting rocket fuel, or doing whatever you need to do. I know where there’s a base with an adequate supply.”

The three looked at each other in surprise. “Well hey, that’s not bad!”

 _Oh Primus,_ thought Mirage. _No wonder Megatron has never conquered the universe._

“Well that’s settled then,” he said. “You go back and tell Megatron you’ve thought of this wonderful idea – you needn’t say it was mine – and I’ll let your kitty cat go. Then I can meet you later at the cruiser, but …”

His voice took on that Alpha coldness that turned the raw energon in mechs’ processors to ice - oh yes it did, he still ‘had it’ _,_ because the three looked suddenly worried. “You had better not let me down.”

………………

Concealed in the shrubbery near the lagoon, Hound could barely contain his disappointment. His worst fears had been confirmed. There was the _evidence_ right before him: Mirage talking to Reflector. Mirage _plotting_ with Reflector. Or that was what it looked mighty like to Hound.

Directives were nagging at him from his logic centre. _Go invisible NOW. Stun Mirage before he realizes you’re there. Then call Prowl – call all the whole lot of the Autobots - right away. Get him locked up – or in stasis._

And such would usually have been the tracker’s course of action without question, if he’d thought there was even a hint of betrayal within the Autobot ranks. But in this instance – he didn’t. Somehow, his logic relays just would not crystallize anything into commands. 

Hound tried to tell himself that his still throbbing interface relays weren’t the reason. But they were confusing the issue, sending in doubts to block the command execution. And indeed, there was something else. Pain shot through his spark at the mere notion of stunning Mirage. Getting him offlined was unthinkable. No – Hound simply could not do it.

It seemed that all he could do was watch….

It looked as though the triplets were about to leave. _Now is my chance._ But Hound still didn’t move. Instead, another set of would-be directives were bombarding his conscious awareness pool.

_….I could detain Mirage…. question him myself …. get the truth out of him. If he’s a traitor then I can deal with it…_

And something else, anger that flared suddenly at the thought that he, Hound, might have been fooled (never mind the Autobots); yet it was tinged with wild excitement. _I don’t have to be gentle_ _about it..._

And part of Hound reeled, because _where did that come from,_ and had not the green jeep always abhorred interrogations?

But that other part of Hound did not find the thought horrendous at all. On the contrary -  

The prospect was absolutely enthralling.

………………

Trailbreaker sighed. “No – and this time I don’t know that I want _him_ back either,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Cliffjumper snapped.

Trailbreaker’s presence was like a pall of misery hanging over the mountain.  “This ain’t the first time Hound’s strayed either,” he said quietly. “He’s – attractive. He has sides to him that are different from other Autobots. Many find that – exciting.”

Cliffjumper tried to ignore the sickening lurch in his processing chamber. “He gets quite carried away in these ‘affairs,’” Trailbreaker went on. “But all the same, I ain’t never seen him like this. Its like he’s under a spell.” He shook his head sadly. “No, this time its different. An’ I don’t think I’m gonna want the end result.”

Cliffjumper did not even want to consider the implications of this. Then, he was angry again. “Well why don’t you just go out there an’ get him back before there’s any real damage?” he snapped. “As you say, he’s been your bond mate for millennia.”

_And I can come with you and just bring Mirage back too, and that will be the end of all this scrap._

“I don’t think Hound would come,” there was a tremor in Trailbreaker’s voice. “I think he might even get angry. Besides, I should be realistic. If you love a thing, let it go.”

He sighed, looking out across the moonlit treetops again. “Prime’s already talking about calling down reinforcements here,” he murmured. “If my friend Beachcomber comes down, I’ll be all right. He’ll help me get through this.”

Get through it. _Get through what?_  “You now it won’t last,” Cliffjumper cried. “With Alphas it never does, as everyone keeps telling me…”

Trailbreaker smiled kindly. “So where does that leave you then, Cliffjumper?” he enquired.

Cliffjumper looked out into the moonlit night. He gritted his denta. “Its different with me,” he growled. “Mirage thinks I’m special.”

…………

“A deal then!” Any fear had gone out of the triplets. They were back to that idiotic combined voice again.

And then, to Mirage’s horror, Spectro drew something out from his arm, something which looked mighty like – a rocket?

Except that it was tiny. Not to mention extremely primitive looking. “What is _that?_ ” Mirage snapped.

“It’s a squishy thing, I nicked it,” the triplet snickered. “They use them at celebrations sometimes. We got a whole load.”

“I said we could use one as a signal to Megatron that the deal’s gone down,” Viewfinder said pompously.  “Oh – and that we’re OK. After all you’re a force to be reckoned with, Mirage. Why else would Megatron want you so badly?”

And before anyone could stop him, he’d ignited the base of the device. It whooshed into the air, exploding with a bang and shower of stars and sparks. The other two applauded loudly.

“You blithering idiots!” Mirage yelled. “Do you want the whole Autobot contingent down here?”

“Not our problem,” the three snickered; and now the little fraggers were leaving, rising into the air above the lagoon. “But hey …” Viewfinder flashed back a wicked grin, just before they sped off, “you and your mechfriend had better make yourselves scarce.”

………………

A soft _kaboom_ erupted into the night, echoing away under the starry sky. In the distance, Cliffjumper saw a small spray of sparks appear in the air. They scattered, winking out as they fell. Then there was nothing.

“You see that?” Cliffjumper could not keep the excitement from his voice. “I told you something was gonna happen Trailbreaker, but no – you knew best. Well now it has. You might be just gonna stand around and look at the countryside, but I’m outta here –"

“Cliffjumper! That was a human rocket. Spike explained them – they’re probably just having fun …”

But Cliffjumper wasn’t buying it. “Oh yeah? Out there in the middle of nowhere? Maybe it’s a whole lot more than that. Sorry buddy …”

“Cliffjumper …..” But the minibot had made up his mind. Mustering energy, he gathered himself together and leaped – high.

High enough - he hoped - to be out of range of the forcefield and to land some way down the mountain.

It was, after all, what he had been named for. And Mirage had said he admired it.

Mirage – his love – who needed him right now. Definitely.

……………

Mirage cursed the three receding airborne forms. Slaggers! He would darned well see that they made it up to him.

A smile crossed his face. He knew how. Those three could be kind of hot. He recalled the time he’d been captured and forced to watch all three of them have a go at a Seeker. It was supposed to have offended his ‘moral Alpha ways.’ _Oh how hilarious._ If only Starscream had known -

Not that they’d be a patch on Hound.

Yes – Hound. Mirage’s charge hummed with sudden vigor. Hound would be awake – and maybe they wouldn’t have to leave _quite_ yet.

Movement caught his optic; a green form up by the rocks. Heat went through Mirage. Splendid! The fact that he would not be on Earth for much longer made the thing he was going to do next – had been _going_ to do before he was so rudely interrupted – all the more crucial. He smiled.  “Hey – Hound?” he called out.

No answer. The mech at the rocks seemed to have gone. There was a crunch on the gravel, then, and the sound of intakes right beside Mirage. Before he could react, a sharp metal object was shoved against his neck.

“Put your hands on your head,” Hound growled.

Damn it - my disruptor …. _Hound can use a disruptor?_ Well that was something Mirage hadn’t known. Frag! “I say – full marks for technique,” he drawled. “But there’s no need for this Hound. I can explain everything -” 

“I said hands on head! Now get up there, and back on that rock on your hands and knees,” the gun nozzle poked harder.

At once, Mirage understood. Well – thought he may do. And – well wow - was this really what it _looked_ like?  

Mirage could hardly believe it.  _He’s going to frag information out of me?_ Nice, upstanding Autobot Hound, a model of the Cause is going to _frag_ me so I’ll tell him what I was doing?

Oh by the powers of the illumination, how many times had Mirage fantasized about certain Decepticons doing that? But Hound? Was the ‘dark’ side really that dark?

 _Apparently so._ And Hound was really going to have to be _good,_ because Mirage _did not_ intend telling him what was going on. Not unless the tracker was extremely persuasive…

Truly, this was the luckiest day of his life.

There was one thing Mirage had to confirm, though. “That disruptor’s nearly out of power,” he said. “And much as I’d be amused to give Prowl a display, I don’t think he’d appreciate it.”  

“Prowl ain’t coming,” Hound growled. “This is between you and me.”

They were the most exciting words Mirage had ever heard.

........

TBC!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hound's own special brand of interrogation yields a frustrated racer, but some results.
> 
> *Warnings* in this chaper for sticky sex, mechfluids, masturbation, sexual deprivation. Its not exactly non-con, however!
> 
> Thanks to Anonfeather for beta :)

“Er – where did you get those?” Was Hound really producing _handcuffs?_

“None of your business. There are many things you don’t know about me, Mirage.” 

Hound shoved him over to the rock.  Mirage allowed himself to be shoved, even managing to display an air of apprehension – although this wasn’t all manufactured, since Hound was being somewhat rougher than made Mirage wholly comfortable. 

Part of him was sure that Hound – good, loyal Autobot Hound – would not even think of _going too far._ But then, who knew? The same could certainly not be said of all the Autobots and Mirage had seen, for instance, the results when unsuspecting ‘cons had been caught by Jazz. 

Mirage didn’t object to discomfort. A little bit of pain could even be fun, so long as he stayed in control… 

Too much wasn’t his thing, however. He’d have to use his Alpha programming to disable his sensory receptors – just as he had with Vortex that time during the war. And that, given that all other far more pleasurable sensations had been shut down also, had been _such_ a drag. 

“Get on your hands and knees,” the tracker’s intakes rasped loudly. No, Hound was no Vortex. He was no Jazz either. Mirage doubted he would inflict any real damage. He would surely just be _vigorous_ ; maybe a bit more so than before – but if it was anything like earlier, then Mirage would have nothing to complain about. 

In fact, the racer had to stop himself from trembling excitedly, as well as try to halt the lubricant that threatened to glisten afresh around his already aching valve.

It was for the best if he kept the act up, however. “I say - I hope you’re not going to overdo it,” he drawled, arranging himself as comfortably as possible so the cuffs didn’t cut into his wrists. 

“Oh really?” There was no humor in Hound’s voice. “I thought you liked it rough?” 

“Indeed, but not too much so. I am of high quality, after all.” 

“Ah well - it depends. On how cooperative you are.” 

Mirage was conscious then of the gun barrel directly in his back. It was just above his spark, perfectly positioned with an accuracy most mechs - or at least, those that lacked specific knowledge of anatomy - would not have achieved seeing as the Alpha spark was positioned lower than regular mechs. 

Unease swept through him again. Maybe Mirage should just explain; after all, he wasn't exactly _ready_ for termination. On the contrary, he rather wanted Hound to come to Cybertron. It was maybe just a question of getting him to see things the right way… 

But a hand ran over his aft, then, a finger tracing the rim of his valve. Mirage shivered. No – he was certain he was just in for a thorough fragging. Why deny himself that? He’d make out as being less than enjoyable, then relent with a few details that would keep Hound happy. 

Yes, that would do. He should not tell too much anyway, in case they tried to stop him. Then Mirage would think of what do to next while he recovered from the _assault._

But Hound wasn’t doing anything – except allowing _that finger_ to dance around in with just enough contact to send his sensors reeling. It was making Mirage want him now with such urgency that if Hound didn’t do something soon, the situation could get exceedingly uncomfortable _.  
_

Unless, of course, he shut off his receptors; and there was _no way_ Mirage was doing that.

Instead, to encourage his interrogator, he waggled his aft and opened his thighs, pleased when he heard Hound’s obvious gasp of arousal.

“Remember – I’m an Alpha,” Mirage kept up the act, injecting what he hoped was a pathetic note. “Be gentle…” 

But then, to his horror, Hound withdrew altogether, leaving only the gun poking in Mirage’s back. “I think you misunderstand me,” he said, sounding horribly in control. “I’m not going to frag you. I’m not even going to hurt you. You’re not going to get anything at all – unless you talk.”

The finger was back, a tantalizing torment on the rim again, stimulating the sensitive nodes with a skill Mirage hadn’t seen in the tracker yet. Memories of earlier flashed, and charge ripped through Mirage in a violent surge of need. 

“You might find it easier to tell me what’s going on,” Hound said. “Because that’s all you get till you do.” 

 

It was actually incredibly hard for Hound to not do a great deal more to Mirage.

His spike throbbed in its constraints, a most unwilling captive, straining as his thighs tightened in frustration. Despite his efforts, Hound couldn’t stop the scatter of energy that escaped over the racer. 

Mirage’s intakes hitched andhe let out a high pitched gruntas the energy catapulted back. Hound fought for control, everything compelling him to drop the gun and grasp that quivering blue and white aft - to dig his fingers hard into the exquisite metal and then slam right in. 

His mind flitted back to the time in the cave when he had imagined this very sight and he had brought himself off to several desperate overloads. Now here was the real deal – and  Hound’s circuits tied themselves in knots at the need to take advantage of it. 

But he managed to keep himself in check, and to contain his bursting spike. His fans whirled to maximum output as he recommenced teasing with his finger. Mirage opened his legs wider, his aft quivered, his valve demanding to be filled. A trickle of lubricant squirted out over Hound’s thighs

Oh Primus! Hound nearly lost it. But he managed to take his finger away and, leaning forward, jabbed the gun in harder. “Talk,” he growled. He must not lose track of what this was about. 

But his scattering energy and whirring fans had given too much away. Mirage controlled the quivering. “Come now Hound, you know you want me…” His voice was strained, but still managed a seductive drawl; that voice which was, even in normal circumstances, almost impossible to resist. Glancing down, Hound caught sight of the tip of Mirage’s spike standing out stiffly. 

Shuttering his optics, Hound wrestled his urges once more. He managed to pull from the depths of his processor a stern warning that Mirage wasn’t to be underestimated. If Hound succumbed, the Alphamech could easily get the upper hand. Hound had the gun and disruptor of course. But to shoot Mirage or to run away? They weren’t options he could bring himself to do. This, he knew. 

Not least because Hound _needed_ to know the truth. After all that had happened, he _could not_ just turn Mirage in to Prowl. And this _had_ to be the best way to get the info he wanted. This torture was surely better than inflicting pain - which he knew enough of high caste mechs to know would only make Mirage shut down. 

And in any case, Hound knew if he was truthful that he couldn’t have hurt him – life on the line or not. Even the gun was not yet even primed.  

Hound kept it there, but he could not stop himself from fervently hoping that the truth would be a perfectly innocent explanation, one where he could relax with Mirage again and enjoy just plain unfettered, passionate fragging. 

Heat radiated from Mirage, his frame shuddering, intakes rasping in hot gasps. “Please …” he whimpered, as small amounts of transfluid splashed from the blue and white spike on to the rock below. He was genuinely uncomfortable – and that was where Hound wanted him.

Nevertheless, Hound couldn’t stop the clench to his intakes, though he managed to stifle a keening whimper as he re-onlined his optics. He could manage this, but now he _had_ to relieve his spike. He let his codpiece open and the appendage emerged, throbbing wildly as heat seared over him. 

Grasping it, Hound moved so he was standing over Mirage. He pushed forward his hips, his spike pointing upwards along Mirage’s back but not touching. It was, in fact, an easier position to hold and keep the gun in place – and his knuckles only _just_ grazing Mirage had exactly the right effect. 

“Oh I do want you,” Hound said as he began to pump his shaft. “And I’ll get you. Mmnnn…this feels great… I’m gonna come all over you, Mirage – and I’m gonna  keep doing this until you talk. Then I’ll pound you so hard that you’ll be a babbling mess. You might wanna talk soon.” 

Hound never had been into dirty talk, so he was half shocked to hear those words coming from his own mouth. He quickly got over it, as he got into rhythm, aware that his fast escalating charge would push him into overload in a very short time.

 

Hound was jerking off - that much was obvious. Damn! Of all the things he could have done, Mirage was hard pushed to imagine anything sexier. Despite the continuing annoyance of the gun digging at his back, Mirage’s own spike was fully extended. Were it not for these damned cuffs he would have grabbed it and massaged himself along with Hound – mutual release being something to which he was rather partial.

“I’m close,” Hound’s intakes came in rasps; his voice had turned harsh and static. It was obvious from the swathes of pent up energy cascading forth that this was no exaggeration. The mech above Mirage radiated heat like a furnace – it was pouring out of him as his hand clanked on his spike and the top of Hound’s thighs tantalizingly grazing his aft. 

_Frag it this was unbearable!_ Mirage whimpered silently, his valve an unfilled, aching cavern, his nodes burning with need. He could not remember when he’d been in such frustrating agony. Primus, if only Vortex had done this instead of trying to slice him up with a laser scalpel. Mirage would have told him anything. 

Mirage made a mental note to inform the Decepticon interrogator if he ever came across him again. 

_Tell Hound something._ Yes - darn it - that was what Mirage clearly going to have to do.

Anything was better than this. This was worse than Hound pulling that trigger – unless, of course, Mirage disabled his sensors. 

Mirage was reaching a point where he might have actually considered this. But the agony was so near ecstasy, so perfect in its extremeness, that now he simply could not do it.  

The movements above increased in tempo, along with the rasping intakes and energy rushes. Hound grunted loudly, and Mirage’s charge soared, reaching a peak as he felt hot liquid spray on to his back, the force of Hound’s overload scattering over him.

It was too much. Mirage’s hips bucked and he shook, climaxing, even without stimulation. But the release was a mere skimming from the surface of his pent up charge, a pitiful output. As a meager squirt of transfluid hit the rock below, Mirage ‘s body went rigid as he strained, trying to make it more. He failed.

Hound was groaning; sounds of obvious relief. Mirage seethed with frustration. He was on fire, his circuits swollen to near bursting as his charge peaked again. Frag, he needed to come. Hard, and completely. 

“All right, all right!” he snarled. “I’ll talk. Just let me get off. Please…”

 

Hound struggled yet again not to lose it - and not just because of the sheer force of his overload and its powerful aftermath. There was no denying a sense of triumph, of conquest that Hound couldn’t really say he’d felt before at the sight of Mirage quivering and pleading.

As with other emotions that had emerged during the course of the day, Hound didn’t entirely like what he was discovering within himself. He wasn’t sure if he could assimilate this new found darkness that oozed of from his depths as a result of being near Mirage with his usual Autobot self. 

Still, that wasn’t the point, Hound reminded himself as he recovered a little, slowing his strokes in time with the decreasing waves of overload. The point was that Mirage had shown himself to be a possible traitor, and Hound was about to uncover the truth. 

Yet other feelings now swirled inside, confusing and conflicting. Hound hoped more than ever that there was a non-treacherous explanation. 

_“Please…”_   Mirage was whimpering again, his body a hungry mass of needing to let go. Hound felt guilty now, a traitor himself almost. A sharp surge went though his spark – but then the whimpering turned angry. 

“For frags sake Hound…” was followed by an: _“You aft!_ If you don’t do me now, you needn’t think you’re ever getting the chance again!”

 _You’re not the one who should be begging,_ Hound wanted to say in a tough guy voice. But the fact was, his thoughts – and being called an aft – sent his spark reeling. _I’d never make an interrogator,_ he thought. A Decepticon sure as hell wouldn’t react like this.

The thought almost amused Hound. All the same, he got a grip on himself. _Just give a little_ , he thought. Yes – that would surely be all right? _Enough to get him talking…_

After all, Hound did want these proceedings to continue.

“All right!” he said tersely. “Now stand up.”

 

Hound still had that infernal gun – only now it was digging into Mirage’s helm; a better prospect than having his spark blown apart, since at least oblivion was swift. Mirage still had no intention of entering the Realm of Illumination yet, however.

Especially since Hound did seem suddenly _slightly_ more amenable. Part of Mirage dreaded yet another weapon in the tracker’s apparently formidable arsenal of this special brand of torture. But he had, in the last few moments, worked out exactly what to tell Hound; at least – he hoped – enough for the tracker to take pity and relieve his critical levels.

Now Hound was right up against his back, his other hand reaching around, his fingers closing around Mirage’s spike. The Racer shivered, unable to stop from whimpering again in a most un-Alpha like manner. He might not be going to get that deep Hound induced valve release quite yet, but any relief would be most welcome in the meantime. 

But no - Hound was still intent on causing torment. He pressed against Mirage, his own (undoubtedly satiated) spike noticeably retracted. His firm hand massaged Mirage’s spike in just such a way as to raise his charge to even more excruciating levels without achieving a result. Mirage squirmed, bucking in the hand to try and increase the tempo – but Hound’s hand stilled altogether. 

“A few strokes from overload,” Hound whispered into his audio. “And that’s not all I could do. Now – do you want it or not. Out with what you’re up to!” 

The hand started up again. Slowly. _Primus it felt good._ Mirage quickly mustered his thoughts. Hound could too easily stop again. Mirage wasn’t risking it. 

“I’m not a Decepticon – or one of their sympathizers,” he rasped huskily. 

“No? Why were you talking to Reflector?” 

Hound throbbed hotly against him. The hand was moving _too darned slowly._ “They’re going back to Cybertron. I’m planning on going too,” Mirage panted. “Not to join them, but to save Cybertron.” He changed to a circular movement, managing to generate more friction, which made things slightly better. Now if Hound could just stay like that, it was hardly ideal but…

But the hand stopped altogether, the mech behind him going rigid.  “That’s ridiculous!” Hound exclaimed. “Even if I did believe you - and I’m not sure that I do - how will you stop them from killing you? I mean – this is _Decepticons_ we’re talking about!” And now, to Mirage’s horror, the hand disappeared altogether, as Hound's incredulity became obvious. 

“The Decepticons won’t _see_ me, will they?” the racer rasped.  “Now PLEASE, Hound …”

But Hound now seemed thoroughly distracted. _Darn it!_   Mirage might as well have kept his mouth shut.

“Look – when I get to Cybertron I’m going to activate a spacebridge and mobilize some others that are still there,” he gabbled.

“But who, Mirage? There’s nobody _left_ on Cybertron!”

This was _ridiculous!_ “Don’t ask me who, because I can’t tell you that yet, Hound….” Mirage snapped. “But look – I _hate_ Megatron. Surely any fool could see that – the glitch destroyed my home and my kin. Now please - just- put - your - hand - back…”

The tracker obliged; and now Mirage's spike was being fondled again. But it lacked any semblance of Hound's prior feverish desire – and therefore any relief it could have brought. “But the Autobots will -” he began.

“Do nothing, if they have any sense!" Mirage's yell was strangled. "Believe me, nobody wants revenge more than me Hound – but I have to do it my way. You have to trust me. You see …” Mirage grimaced, _oh damn he hadn’t been going to say it_ “I was hoping that once I got to Cybertron, you’d join me.”

 

Hound was conscious that the sky was lightening, a distinct glow appearing in the east, as he pressed against this mech who so fascinated him, who he’d wanted – still did want – so much. He was reminded that he’d had very little recharge, and that whilst this might mean nothing to Mirage’s superior systems, his own would need refueling and a good rest soon. 

“At least remove your gun from me!” Mirage snapped.

Processor reeling, Hound found himself dropping his wrist. The weapon fell with a dull thud.

 _Join_ Mirage? It was ridiculous. The problem, however, was that Hound believed Mirage. A sincerity was present, and Hound found thoughts rapidly flitting through his processor - the destruction of Mirage’s kin, the revenge he surely deserved, the loss of all that the Alphas, the one time rulers of Cybertron, had had.

He thought of Prowl, the deep rooted Praxian bitterness against the Alpha caste that should have healed with the war but hadn’t. The lack of sympathy, the distrust of the others - not without their own prejudices. The lack of belief that Alphas, retaining vast wealth even after their fall, had no business complaining.

Still, Hound’s head was filled with other questions: the little matter of Autobot security – and the destiny of Cybertron if the Decepticons got back there, not to mention Earth.  Who _was_ on Cybertron? And did Hound really know Mirage hadn’t gotten so bitter and tainted that he wouldn’t betray them anyway?

Mirage squirmed in his grip. Hound needed to know more. Keeping one hand firmly against Mirage’s chest, he massaged Mirage’s spike with the other, just enough to _not quite_ give him release. “So what was the deal with Reflector?”

" _Aaarrrgghhh …”_ Mirage wrestled for more contact. Hound sensed he had pushed him far, that it would not take much to send him over. Another pang of guilt threatened – but no, if he could just hand on to this the closeness to the edge...

“Talk!”

“The triplets are liaising with Soundwave. He’s - organizing this…” Mirage croaked.

 _“Soundwave?”_ Hound’s hand stopped again."For pit’s sake - he’s my old mentor!” Mirage yelled.

Blue sparks began to crackle against Hound. Mirage began to whimper: “He taught me much of what I know...he’s a gatekeeper...of the City of Iacon...he plays his own game...look - I’ll tell you more, _but don’t you fraggin’ dare_ _STOP!”_

The racer’s voice had become a howl. Arousal coursed though the tracker – though now it was tinged with another concern. If Mirage shut down, or went into stasis, this would be one helluva thing to explain – beside which, he’d never find out the truth. 

“Right …” Hound began to rub more vigorously, even as his mind raced. 

“Oh pit - oh yes - _that’s more like it …FINALLY...”_ the racer strained, bucking hard in time, his words barely perceptible through the static. But now Hound’s mind was a miasma of thoughts and emotions. Above all resonated one: _What if he_ does _get himself killed? I don’t think I could bear it – especially if I hadn’t tried to stop him._

In sudden resolve, Hound let go of Mirage’s spike and spun the spy round to face him. Mirage’s cuffed hands clanked against his chest. 

“I’m gonna do more than pull you off,” Hound growled. “But I’m darned if you’re gonna go waste yourself afterwards.”

 

 _Oh thank Primus..._ Mirage went weak with thesweet promise of sublime release. He went to grab at Hound, only to find his hands still in the handcuffs

He moved swiftly, throwing his arms over Hound’s head, pulling the tracker to him. “I can look after myself,” he rasped into Hound’s neck. If that was the concern now, it was easily allayed. “It’ll be OK. Trust me. Now DO me, like you did earlier…” he bit down on the tracker’s neck cords, “ _Please_ – Hound!” 

But Hound pushed him back. Mirage’s cuffed hands clanked against the green neck, trapping the spy.  “It won’t be OK!” his optics blazed, a brilliant cobalt blue. “How can it be OK? It’s a trap, Mirage! They’ll capture you, then you’ll be stuck on Cybertron, watching it all fall apart again – _if_ there’s anything left now …” 

For pity's sake! “There’s plenty left!” Mirage snarled. “And don’t insult me by suggesting I can’t handle myself.” 

“Well I’m _worried._ Believe it or not I CARE!” 

An odd sensation plunged through Mirage’s spark, with an even odder effect. Things seemed to freeze, his lust for a moment abating; Hound _cared?_

In all his fantasies, and everything that had transpired since, Mirage had not even put that in the equation with the tracker. _Caring_ was for bondmates - something Hound most certainly already had. 

Well ‘care’ was hardly Mirage’s thing, was it? “This is about fucking, not caring,” he snarled. “If I wanted _care_ , I’d only be fucking Cliffjumper!” 

Yet the feeling persisted. Mirage had not felt anything like that in…. _how_ long? To his amazement, he realized he actually _liked_ that Hound felt that way. A sudden fierce surge of spark energy reignited his need. He pulled Hound in again. 

Hound stumbled against him and Mirage toppled, landing on his back with a crunch. Hound clanged down on top of him. Sprawling on Mirage in the gravel, the handcuffed hands were still tightly locked around Hound's neck.

“Now _that’s_ more like it …” Guttural lust returned with a vengeance. Mirage wrapped his legs around Hound, trapping him, grinding against him. This time there would be NO ESCAPE for the tracker.

 

Mirage’s nosecone dug into Hound’s grill as the racer, so charged again, writhed beneath him. Mirage’s spike throbbed against his thigh. Hound gave in. He wasted no more time, maneuvering his own fully extended appendage to line up with Mirage’s wet and welcoming valve. Then he thrust in, hard, heavily, forcefully, both emotion and charge pouring off him as with grabby hands, he scraped at Mirage’s thighs, pulling his aft up. 

Being in him again was divine, wonderful, amazing – all the more so for Mirage’s utter desperation, the degree with which the racer wanted him now. Hound plunged in deeper, withdrew and then slammed in again. _“You’re… not… going …”_ the words were punctuated with urgent thrusts.

_“We’ll… see…about… that… just...fraggin’...fuck...me...Hound...”_

The words degenerated into garbled static as Mirage overloaded madly. A wave of blue energy exploded out, crackling over Hound as the racer's valve clenched hard, his body convulsing in spasms as his heels drilled into Hound’s back. 

It engulfed Hound. He overloaded just as hard, releasing into the racer with a force he wouldn’t have even thought he had left. The universe turned white then blotted out, leaving only static screaming in his audios. 

Then waves were flowing between them, fast and furious currents of energy that washed through, surging from Mirage and back into him again, and back; to and fro, so they became as one, and Hound could not distinguish his sensations from Mirage’s, or say where racer or tracker began and ended.

As their union persisted, Hound inhaled the Earth dawn, felt the beauty of the mech beneath him, his uniqueness, and his power. Overwhelmed, his chest ached with sparksurge, a pain not felt since the early days with Trailbreaker. It drained him, finally. He flopped on Mirage, burying his face in the racer’s neck as power-down gradually commenced. 

Mirage recovered quickly, it seemed. “Thank you,” he drawled. “If I’d known it would have been so much trouble getting that, I would have told Reflector to be a great deal more circumspect, I can assure you …”

“Yeah well, we still have to talk,” Hound panted, outraged at the apparent lack of reciprocation; although really - he chastised himself - _what did he expect?_

Well Primus this wasn’t the end of the matter, he thought with sudden fury. Did Mirage really think it was? 

“Don’t think you’re getting off that lightly,” he managed to rasp. “There’s _plenty_ I still need to know.” It was just a case of figuring out _what_ and _how…_

“Yes, yes of course, of course …” Mirage cut in. But then, he stiffened. For the second time in recent memory came a most unwelcome sound: Tyres on gravel, accompanied by an engine furiously revving. 

The signature was extremely recognizable. “I do believe its Cliffjumper…” Mirage said. He sounded amused.

“The disruptor!” Hound cried. he was darned if things would end like this. But still hazy from overload, he forgot about the handcuffs again and fell back down on Mirage when he tried to get up. He scuffled madly, but all he succeeded in doing as the minibiot screamed to a halt was to disengage and manage to be sitting on the ground rather helplessly, next to a now faintly smiling MIrage. 

In a flurry of dust and tyres, Cliffjumper transformed. The minibot's whole countenance burst with fury and disbelief. His gaze fell instantly on the handcuffs. “What are you doing?” he snarled. With astounding speed, the famous huge red gun was suddenly pointing straight at Hound. 

“I knew you didn’t really like him!” Cliffjumper cried. “You’re no different from Prowl!”  And then his chest puffed out as he swelled in sudden recognition of the crucial role he could here play. 

“You’ve got me to contend with Hound,” he growled. “If you don’t get those filthy cuffs the _hell_ off my lover right now!”

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more overall plottiness in this chapter, and a little less just plain smut – though there’s plenty more of that to come. Sorry this next bit has been a long time in coming.
> 
> Those who remember the (rather confusing) early episodes of the 1984 cartoon “More than Meets the Eye” will recognize the scene with Ravage in the cage - though there's some poetic licence!
> 
> *Warnings* for some sticky smut in this chapter, including oral sex.

**On Cybertron, Earth A.D. 1984**

Moonracer hesitated. Then opened the door to the control room. A whirring mass of machines and computer screens greeted her, the mastermind of the new Cybertron they'd been fashioning since the alliance with Shockwave.

Darn it, and all this was probably about to change.

Elita looked up, her face radiating the excitement that had been apparent ever since this endeavor began, unaware of the sudden turn of fate. "Ah Moonracer – you wanted a word," she said.  
A couple of breems later, the Autobot femme leader's face was ashen. "Are you absolutely certain?" she kept saying.

"It's a weak transmission," Moonracer repeated. "But it's my brother Mirage all right. They're alive – all of them. They're on that planet they set out for – they made it after all. Seems there was some kind of a battle and they were offlined for a few million years. But all seems to have taken on where it left off now."

Elita seemed to be having trouble saying anything at all. "But Prime!" she gasped. "I thought he was…I was certain he was…what in the universe am I...?"

She seized Moonracer's arm. "You must never tell him about Shockwave and I, Moon. Never! That's an order."

Moonracer was hardly surprised by this. "I won't,” she said. "But we'd better make some plans. Megatron's on the verge of coming back up here. And that means Prime's sure to follow, and…"  
"The war will be with us all over again!” Elita's fists clenched. “All our good work, Moon - trust mechs to ruin everything! Well it can't happen! It _won't!”_

 _She fumed for a moment or two, then turned to the other Alpha-femme. Her optics narrowed._  “And where, exactly, is _Mirage_ in all this?"

"It - uh - sounds like he’s hitching a ride with the Decepticons,” Moonracer said hesitantly, knowing well the opinion that the femme leader held for her brother and not looking forward to discussing the subject.

"I don't think he likes this _Earth_ place that much. It seems he doesn’t want to wait for the Autobot response. He's – er - got some plans of his own.”

"Well he can stall them!” Elita snapped. "Or at least give me some time. Does he not understand that I need to work out a contingency plan?"

"Yeah well maybe…" Moonracer could not for the life of her see Mirage having the slightest regard for this, or any other agenda that belonged to Elita. "There is this mech it seems,” she said. “Some kind of tracker-type. It seems that Mirage has taken rather a fancy to him. I think it quite likely that…”

"You don't have to say any more," The femme leader’s tone was icy. "I am well aware of Mirage's total inability to refrain from getting his end away. Well - you must capitalize on it Moonracer. You are to tell him to stall the Cons. That is an order!”

“Then I will have to take steps to get all this…" she gestured around, "out of sight. And - it may have to be over with Shockwave…"  
Her voice had turned to a most melancholy tone, and Moonracer could not help but feel sorry for her. “I'll do my best," she said gently. "This is _Mirage_ we’re talking about. No promises."  
  
 **Meanwhile back at the Autobot headquarters…**

Hound awoke with a start. Confused images threaded through his processor, a tirade of lust and desperation, of betrayal and perverted attempts at persuasion, and not least of minibots with very big guns… 

He sat up. He was, it seemed, back in a familiar berth – the one he shared with Trailbreaker.

A sharp ache in his lower regions, and more memories of the night’s activity invaded Hound’s thoughts. He vented heavily, recalling with shock his behavior after the Reflector incident, even as the memory sent fierce tingles rippling through his circuits.

He fought them down. He must stop being so weak! Other memories were a great deal more relevant to the Autobots. Memories such as:  Mirage going to Cybertron.  Mirage’s ‘explanation.’ The clandestine references to contacts on Cybertron – and not least, Mirage’s connections to _Soundwave_ of all mechs…

And Mirage was an Alpha, used to throwing his weight around, to doing what he wanted. Even if he wasn’t a traitor – and Hound found to his dismay, that however much logic rebelled, that this notion was still firmly lodged in his spark – who _knew_ what the mech would do?

_Let him go. It’s his problem what happens to him…_

“Yes – that’s by far the most sensible thing!” Hound said out loud. Besides, it seemed that despite what Mirage said about Cliffjumper, he’d been _very_ keen to go off to his berth. It had been more than a little - humiliating. Mirage deserved all he brought on himself.

Indeed – and there was only one thing that just had to be:  Hound had to _stay with his bondmate._ He owed Trailbreaker a sincere apology - and a lot of make-up love.

But the place beside Hound was not even warm. The Tracker’s spark ached with dismay. He’d assumed Trailbreaker would wait until he’d recharged – it wouldn’t be long. _Hound_ checked his chromo. His senses jolted. It was nearly midday!

Hound got up, immediately. He must find Trailbreaker! He must get back to the job of being a good, honest, ordinary Autobot.

In the washrack, as he doused away the last remnants of the night’s revelries, Hound reaffirmed his views. If he’d had any doubts prior to Cliffjumper’s arrival, he surely shouldn’t have had any doubts after that; not after Mirage’s _appalling_ behavior at the canyon.

Mirage had appeared completely unperturbed. "It's all right sweetspark," he'd smiled at the minibot, whose face was set in the same kind of grimace it had worn the day he and Hound had first spotted the Decepticons, as dark as the sky in readiness of a storm.

"Hound was just testing these cuffs out. Weren't you Hound?"

And Hound, not exactly unintimidated by the _sheer size_ of that gun pointing at him, had nodded.

"And he was just about to take them off. Is that not right Hound?"

And Hound had hesitated, had entertained thoughts of piping up _no –_ _you don’t understand Cliffjumper. We might be dealing with a Decepticon spy here – or at least a mech who doesn’t care a turborat’s aft for the Autobot cause_ , _and even if we’re not then it really is better that I deal with this…_

The weapon had clicked. //Just do it!/ Mirage had hissed.

Hound had _removed the cuffs_ _._ Not only was there was _no way_ the besotted minibot was going to believe even the remotest taint to his beloved’s character, but Hound had felt suddenly exhausted. If this situation could be settled, then they could head back to base. He needed some recharge, the chance to _think._

And Hound had enough on Mirage to make his life uncomfortable – if it came to that. If he couldn’t persuade the Alphamech by other means how darned stupid his ideas were …

"There, see, sweetiepie?" Mirage had shaken his wrists free and held them up.

Gradually, Cliffjumper had lowered the gun. Then the Minibot had turned on the object of his adoration. "What have you been _doing?"_ he'd demanded. "You've been out here all _night!"_

"Surveillance," Mirage had said smoothly, rubbing his wrists. “You know the protocol, sweetspark. Prowl doesn’t like us conducting operations alone.”

“But I thought you were a special exception?”

"Sweetspark…" Mirage had draped an arm around Cliffjumper, steering him to one side. “I _am_ special. But I’m also trying to be a good Autobot!”

Hound had nearly retched. He’d not been sure what nauseated him the most – Mirage’s blatant lies or the minibot’s unquestioning devotion.  "I was worried about you!" He heard Cliffjumper say, his voice all soft and soppy. 

"Oh hun – you're such a treasure…" Mirage had drawled; and then he'd kissed Cliffjumper passionately, right there in front of Hound, right near where they'd just…

Hound could contain himself no longer. //You're despicable!// He’d hissed. //And don’t forget what I know!//

//Oh of course,// Mirage had shot back. //But who’s he going to believe? Now - I don’t want him offside, Hound, and neither do you if you've got any sense.//

//Besides…// he paused to kiss his adorer some more, //I rather like making you jealous.//

Hound had stopped himself from barging over there and grabbing Mirage from Cliffjumper, blurting out that they’d fragged all night - _actually_ \- and that that he was the one who knew Mirage’s inner thoughts and workings, not Cliffjumper! The Alphamech was _his…_

He’d vented heavily, annoyed as much at himself as with Mirage. He not only was failing in his duty as an Autobot but he _was_ now actually jealous! Of a minibot!

When Mirage had finally broken from the embrace, Cliffjumper had smirked, a picture of self satisfied one-up-mechship. As they’d rolled back, he’d jammed up next to the racer, making sure that Hound had to trail behind.

Then when they’d got to the Ark, Cliffjumper had dragged Mirage away – but not before another triumphant _look._ Mirage  had shrugged. //Duty calls - I’ll join you later…// he’d drawled.

Seething, Hound had turned to see Trailbreaker standing in the other doorway. His anger had dissipated, his spark surging with affection. And Trailbreaker had simply looked him over. “I covered for you - you look done in. Come an’ get some rest,” was all he’d said; and Hound had felt overwhelmed with relief.

As he sank on to Trailbreaker’s berth, Hound had truly believed that he could put what had happened behind him, return to the faithful, the familiar, and the one that he loved. The Mirage question could be addressed in an objective, Autobotly way; professionally, a way that was best for his faction – and for Cybertron.

Yes - Mirage’s fate would depend simply on how well he cooperated, and was willing to show his loyalty – or at least behave like a sensible, rational mechanism.

“He needs to be pulled into line, told to behave like one of us or face time in the brig,” Hound said out loud, now, reaffirming these thoughts as as he activated the dryer, turning this way and that and ignoring the pleasant ripples of sensation stirred by the blast of dry air into his seams.

“And I am going to see to it that this occurs. In the meantime, if he prefers Cliffjumper – that’s fine!” When  Cliffjumper eventually found out what Mirage was up to, then regardless of whether Mirage was in the brig or somehow on Cybertron, Cliffjumper would thank him and they’d be friends again.

The door hissed open. Hound emerged from the washrack just as Trailbreaker opened the door.

The dark blue mech was never a more welcome sight. "Trailbreaker …" Hound began.

But before his bondmate could reply, another mech entered behind him. Hound’s spark gave a start. Carrying two rucksacks, the mech radiated calmness, and his own kind of power; one that Hound had always found quietly unnerving.

From beneath his visor, the mech gave Hound a friendly smile. "Hey, old buddy," Beachcomber said. “Been havin’ a fun time?"

…..

"One more time!" Straddling Mirage, Cliffjumper ground his pelvis against Mirage’s lower regions. Keen blue optics regarded him lustfully. "I need your spike now Mirage, I NEED it …"

"All right sweetspark. Now just let me get a _teeny weeny_ bit of rest and then I'll be good as new."

Primus, Mirage was having trouble even staying online! That erotic interrogation from Hound (who would have believed it?) followed by that desperate final overload and then the tense scene with his two lovers had taken its toll.  The drive home – in the shadow what lay ahead - had almost finished him completely.

Mirage had had enough left in him to manage a spiking once, grateful that the minibot in his deprived and charged up state had overloaded almost immediately.  The minibot had then spiked him briefly, releasing again in a spectacular blast of crackling energy and hot fluid.

Mirage had tried to make a noise that sounded like pleasure – rather than the discomfort he’d felt in his overused valve even from Cliffjumper's comparatively meager appendage. He’d faked an overload. Cliffjumper had bought it; and that, Mirage had thought, had been – mercifully – that.

But Cliffjumper had not been satisfied. "All night I was without you 'Raj,” he was wailing now. “I can’t do without this any more. I need you again. You’re so – _amazing…”_

"Yes, yes, I know I know …" _Primus almighty._ "But sweetie…” Mirage caught hold of Cliffjumper’s hips, holding them still. Reaching up, he stroked Cliffjumper’s helm. “What we did just now was… well – it was so good, I don't think I need anything else."

But Cliffjumper wasn’t having it. He was sliding down Mirage. "I'm going to make you so hard you're going to hurt…”

His mouth roved over the ridge on Mirage’s nosecone, his fingers curling on the windscreen. Mirage grimaced, shifting as the minibot moved on down, sucking at the base of the nosecone, his glossa swirling on the delicate metal. His fingers found an interface port and played over it, teasing at the edges of the cover.

Under other circumstances it would, in fact, have been most enjoyable – but as it was Mirage felt not a smidgen of arousal.

The minibot had reached his depressurized appendage. Mirage was aware of Cliffjumper's valve hot against his leg, of the minibot's spike sticking in above it. "You're such a tease, Mirage," Cliffjumper rasped, grinding as his glossa teased. “I know you’re making me wait. But I know - you’re - not - gonna - last - much - longer….”

 _I wouldn't count on it…_ Mirage made a few noises, hoping this would pacify the minibot.

It didn’t; and it was just as Cliffjumper was starting to make sounds that were less of arousal and decidedly of annoyance, that Mirage's comm sounded. _Splendid timing._ _The signal was weak, but its source clear:_ his sister Moonracer - on Cybertron.

“Sorry sweetspark - important call…” Mirage gently disentangled himself. He slid his legs over the side of the berth, aware that the minibot’s expression had turned very less than amused.

And then, he was busy trying to decipher what Moonracer was saying amid the crackle and interference. “Three guesses who _that_ is!” Cliffjumper burst out.

. _…Elita…not happy…Cybertron…delay…_ Mirage caught  before the comm cut out.

He clicked it off. Cliffjumper’s expression had turned as black as thunder. “It was Hound, wasn’t it?”?” he demanded. His optics flashed angrily.

"Nope! Under cover business,” Mirage said airily.

“Bollocks!” the minibot yelled – an odd human expression. "I knew it! And I don't believe you were only working last night. That’s why you can’t _do it!”_

“Sweetspark…” Mirage began. But Cliffjumper was already flouncing from the berth. He fumbled furiously as he stowed his equipment away, armour clicking as he tightened it.

“Now Cliffjumper …" Mirage tried more firmly. Heck – it wasn’t that he didn’t want Cliffjumper any more at all – just not till he’d had a chance to recover from his _other_ lover.

But the minibot turned on him, all red fury. “You needn’t think you’re really that important!” he cried. “As a matter of fact – I hooked up with _somebody else_ last night! It was good – _and I might just do it again!”_

The door slammed. Minibot feet clanged away into the morning.

Mirage overcame a moment of incredulity. Cliffjumper had been _unfaithful?_ And then, he laughed. Oh well, whoever the new love interest was, he’d certainly done Mirage a favour.

And with any luck, whoever it was would keep Cliffjumper occupied for a while now while Mirage caught up with his recharge. He needed it - before he planned the rest of his return to Cybertron; a most necessary agenda - especially if that opinionated glitch Elita was now in the equation.

…..

Trailbreaker was piling Beachcomber’s paraphernalia into stacks. Hound saw bags and boxes filled with interesting looking devises and weird specimens – spoils from the outer quadrants, from Beachcomber’s custodian role in the outer quadrant worlds. He’d always admired Beachcomber’s dedication to his duties. But all that stuff? _In here?_

With a sinking spark, Hound suspected he knew the implications. But he refused to accept them. “I don’t know about this,” he tried to sound jovial. “What if there’s a Code Red? I’ll fall flat on my face getting out of here!”

“Hound…” Trailbreaker looked up. He regarded him solemnly. “I think you know the score.”

So it was true. Hound sighed. “You’re throwing me out, then?”

“It’s not like that…”

Hound's thoughts were a mess. Guilt warred with outrage, even though he knew it wasn’t reasonable.  “No it’s OK, I get it - I suppose Ratchet wasn’t enough,” he muttered, knowing he was a coghead for doing so.

Trailbreaker stopped what he was doing. “How can you _say_ that!” His optics blazed and now emotion traversed the bond, a stark, raw wound that hitherto Trailbreaker had not let him see. Shocked, Hound wanted to cross to him, to gather him up, to make everything all right. Except that it was too late for that.

Trailbreaker shook his head. He resumed his stacking. “Comber’s my _friend,_ Hound. And that’s all.  Right now - I need him. I can’t deal with…”

“I know.” Hound let out a sigh. There was nothing more to say. 

“You’d better start thinking how you're gonna deal with the situation,” Trailbreaker muttered, “because you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into - and I can’t help you.”

 _But I do know._ And suddenly, it was obvious, what Hound must do. He must confide in his bondmate – get a fresh perspective on Mirage’s real _raison d’etre_. What wiser choice than good honest straight shooting, sensible Trailbreaker.

“Look, Breaker…” he began. “You might think that…”

But the door opened then, and Beachcomber appeared. He hesitated when he saw the pair; then smiled disarmingly. “Say!” he said. “This not a good time?”   

“It’s fine,” Trailbreaker said before Hound could reply. I just need a quick refresh.”

He disappeared into the washrack area and Hound’s spark pained again. Trailbreaker, he realized, did not want to reveal his emotion.

Beachcomber cleared his throat. “We're helpin' Red Alert with control room duties this morning,” he said conversationally. “Then Prowl wants Ravage brought up for some sunlight. Darned cat nearly howled the place down in the early hours. Hey – Hound - you wouldn’t be able to…"  

“I’ll bring the cat out…” Hound murmured. He watched sorrowfully as his bondmate returned and gathered a few bits and pieces; then he was following Beachcomber out with not even a further glance. “Catch you later!” Beachcomber called back.

Hound felt desperation grip his spark. He _had_ to do something. It was now or never.

//You know, I was going to say - with Mirage it’s not all how it might appear to be!// he blurted into the comm as their footsteps receded. //I have reason to believe he might not be as straight up Autobot as he makes out.//

//Oh Hound – seriously – don’t tell me you only just figured that out? Don’t comm me again...//

And with that, the comm clicked off. With it, Hound felt the bond close also. His spark withered like Earth fruit on a dry vine. There was no doubt about it. He was up to his neck in this mess. As though tossed into a spacebridge, he had no choice but to go with the flow and make the best of wherever he landed.

….

Mirage did not recharge for long. Pleasant thoughts of Seekers with very ample apparatus were interrupted by clattering feet in the corridor outside. Autobotly yells of "Whoo!" and "Yeah!"  accompanied the din.

 _Did they have to be so damnably enthusiastic?_ Mirage tried offlining his optics, but the racket continued.

He onlined his optics again, wincing as pain ripped up his backstrut. He squinted at the surroundings. He was still in Cliffjumper’s berth! No wonder he felt like he was being crushed in a vice.

And no wonder the racket – there were no ‘Bots that loved their daily training routine more than minibots.

Mirage needed to get out of here - now. Alighting from the berth, he gave himself a quick once over in the mirror, frowning at a dint in his left cheek that hadn’t yet self repaired. Then he slipped out, activating the disruptor; just as well, for suddenly there were Gears and Brawn, right in the middle of the passage.

They were heading his way. Mirage flattened himself against the wall. Just before they got to him, they stopped, and Gears turned to Brawn.

“Well I gave Cliffjumper a good talking to,” he growled. “And I hope that’s the end of this nonsense. Seems Bumblebee came looking for him – and much as I’ve had a few things to say about _that_ one in my time, he’s one hell of an improvement on _you know who.”_

Mirage was amazed.   _Bumblebee_ was the new love interest? He stifled a laugh. It could hardly be much competition.He hadn’t even thought the other minibot had it in him!

“If I see that fancy aft sniffling around my minibots again…”

"I’m with you, Gears. Let’s just say this time his face ain’t gonna look so pretty.” Brawn smacked his fist into the palm of his hand.

Mirage drew himself back to a near stick figure to let them past, pleased that he’d kept the shapeshifter program on standby too. Good Primus, they really didn’t like him! He had no doubt that the yellow minibot meant exactly what he said.

Well, never mind - when he had some sway on Cybertron again, Mirage would provide some appeasement - get some traditional minibot territory recognized, or something. They’d soon forget about all this.

Right now, a nice hot shower seemed like the ticket. Followed by a little chat with the cat. Then if he had time, he might relax briefly in that little courtyard formed when the Ark went into the mountain, and meditate on his mission. At least it was warm and sunny there - hardly the hanging crystal gardens of Iacca Niara, but it was all right.

With this in mind, Mirage headed for his own, much more opulent quarters.

…

Hound sat balefully in the small courtyard, trying to figure out his life. How had things gone so downhill, so fast? When they’d been ‘awakened,’ he’d been so overjoyed to find that both he and Trailbreaker had survived…

And so full of life! Planet Earth with its teeming organic multitudes had acted like a tonic. In no time, four million years of de-activation had seemed not to matter at all. Trailbreaker had shared his joy, daring with him to venture out of the Ark and sample the new surroundings, so different and so inspiring.

They’d been relishing their renewed bond, their adoration of each other in this wonderful place – but all that had been swept away when Mirage sauntered into the mess that day. Hound had felt his very core respond – and Trailbreaker had felt it too. From then on, the conclusion was inevitable.

And look where it had gotten him! And yet Hound’s loins tingled, even as he thought unhappily of the closed off bond. He still wanted Mirage. And he _still_ wanted to stop the racer going on this idiotic trip to Cybertron.

Yes – _and_ he wanted to talk Mirage out of it himself – without resorting to Prime, or Prowl, or Autobot brigs and methods of immobilsation. The thought of Mirage in spark stasis, his lithe and elegant form still and useless, was almost unbearable.

Hound knew the racer would be back. And he knew the thing with him was a lot stronger and more compelling than the thing with Cliffjumper. If necessary, Hound would use the same kind of methods as he used before…

Charge seared through the tracker, painful in its intensity. Hound got up, radiating heat, his armour suddenly too tight, a burning constraint on his exoskin. He was aware of Ravage springing up, watching with interest as he stood with one hand on the rocks, activating his fans, trying to retract the spike that now pushed against his codpiece.

Ravage watched him keenly, her tail twitching sporadically. It was almost as though she knew…

Hound had to do something. He was running as hot as he had been the time in the cave – and he could hardly do _that_ in front of Ravage! Instead, he activated the hologram program, hurling energy into the image with as much force as he could muster, It sprang to life - a towering and frighteningly real looking version – of Megatron.

“Try that…” he said to the cat. She obliged, snarling loudly.

And as for him? At least the energy surge had taken the edge off.

…

By the time Mirage had arrived at the courtyard, impatience had settled into the high caste processor, the sort of irritation that happened when things took too long and Mirage was impeded by fools. Ravage was not in the basement. Perhaps she had   gotten away – but if so, _why hadn’t she commed him and told him?_

Annoyance turned to surprise, however, when he entered the courtyard and found not only Ravage, but - _Megatron as well…?_

In a flash, Mirage had weapons drawn – only to hear a deep chuckling. There, leaning against the rock wall, was the tracker.

Hound was apparently chuckling at the cat – and hadn’t noticed Mirage’s arrival. Mirage lowered his gun. Obviously, “Megatron” was a hologram – and Mirage couldn’t help but be impressed at the likeness. _He has many talents,_ he thought.

Mirage lingered in the doorway, studying his new lover. Despite his casual stance, Hound looked wonderfully pent up!  Mirage felt charge ripple fiercely into his circuits all over again.

The cat glared at him. “Just as well!” she spat. “I have to look at that silver moron quite enough in the nemesis.  Tell your _beau_ to quit showing off.”

Mirage was amused.  //So you’ve met my tracker, then? Good, isn’t he? Though I wouldn’t talk out loud if I were you – he’s smart. He’ll figure it.//

Hound turned. He saw Mirage and flushed. The hologram disappeared. Mirage gave a slow clap. “Nicely done,” he said. “You nearly had me fooled.”

“Yeah well…” Hound drew himself up. “It _did_ fool Ravage. It’s a good illustration of how Decepticons aren’t even loyal to their own. You might take notice of that, Mirage!”

“It did not fool me!” Ravage snarled.  “If he carries on like that…”

//Sshh!// Mirage snapped.

Hound sauntered over. He was trying extremely hard to be ‘tough.’ Mirage rather liked it. Armour gleamed and shifted on the taught, well structured form, the stiffness in his walk failing absolutely to hide his need. A bunch of keys dangled from his waist, accentuating the swell of his obviously straining anatomy.

Mirage decided to make things more uncomfortable. Seating himself on a nearby rock ledge, he adopted a pose very similar to the one he’d used to seduce Hound at the canyon. “So...” he said. “Do you want to talk?”

“Hmmnn…” The cat paced up and down. //I must admit, he’s a handsome specimen. And holographic capability would be very useful to the Decepticons…//

//He’s not going to be a Decepticon!// Mirage shot across. He wished she’d shut up.  He wanted to concentrate on Hound, who turned away, obviously unable to restrain himself whilst still looking. He said nothing, and Mirage could almost feel the inner turmoil raging.

//Of course, we could do a deal,// the cat went on, undeterred. //You get me out of here and I could put the word in…//

//I’m trying!// Mirage snapped. //It may have escaped your notice, but he has the keys!//

The cat let out a low hiss. //He seems over sensitive. What did you do to him?//

 _It’s more the case of what he did to me._ But Mirage wasn’t telling Ravage that.

Hound had turned around. He glanced at the cage for a moment, and then back at Mirage. “You’re still going then?”

He was hard to read. Lustful yes, but what had he done whilst Mirage was with Cliffjumper? Had the bond-mate _gotten_ to him? Had he told anyone anything?

Mirage didn’t think that Hound had done either; nevertheless, under the tracker’s piercing gaze he suddenly wished that instead of trying to screw Cliffjumper, he’d simply whisked Hound to his own berth.

_Oh well, even I can’t always get it right…_

Mirage decided on a humerous, indirect approach. “Look Hound – think what we could do back on Cybertron…”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I am! I was just thinking how you could _holo_ me a two story house with a double garage!”

Hound considered that. He seemed to brighten. "You just gave me an idea!" he said. Hopping off the rock, he seemed about to disappear…

Except that he didn’t. Instead, he crossed the courtyard quickly. Before Mirage could react, he was kissing him deeply.

Ravage howled, turning away. “Watch that cat – I’ll be right back!” Hound said cheerfully as he broke the kiss - leaving Mirage uncharacteristically flustered.

“Now what’s he up to?” Ravage hissed as the tracker strode out of the door. “And why didn’t you get that key?”

“I really don’t know,” Mirage said, not sure of the answer to either. “But we’d better wait, and you’d better be prepared to move fast - just in case.”

 

Even Ravage had not noticed the small red figure that had appeared in the doorway. Cliffjumper fled, just before Hound departed. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle of wills in more ways than one as Hound and Mirage both try to change the other's mind. Still set during last episode of the original 1984 MTMTE cartonn - and still with more than a little poetic licence!
> 
> *Warnings* in this chapter for emotional manipulation and sticky, explicit sexual scenes that include oral sex and immobilisation 'bondage.'

**Control Room: The Ark**

“A very good idea,” Optimus Prime agreed. “Yes indeed – a _very_ good idea, Hound.” He turned to his second in command. “Prowl – organise for Ravage to be tracked. Jazz – you can help Hound to complete the illusion. We’ll need Bumblebee and Cliffjumper, and Red Alert had better come with us to deal with any security issues. Hmmnn…”

The leader thought for a moment, chin in hand. “Mirage is also security trained  - he can remain here, just in case Megatron has some side-plans for while we’re out of the Ark. Trailbreaker can stay too – a force field would be a wise additional measure….”   

As one not usually given to great and important schemes, Hound could not help but feel a sense of triumph.  He knew not where the idea for a giant phoney holographic rocket base to deceive the Decepticons had come, but it sure was good thinking.

And now – better still - his very favourite mechs were staying safely behind! Mirage, he knew, would be far from happy - but it was for his own good. And with one of Breaker’s forcefields in place – well – not even Mirage would get through that.

Optimus Prime was looking at him. “Where _is_ Mirage?”

“He’s guarding Ravage!” Hound said. _At least, that’s where I left him…_

Oh Primus – please let him still be there… _he will be though. The way he responded to that kiss… I do have an effect on him, whether he likes it or not..._

Hound intended to make the most of that fact _._ “I’ll inform Mirage of his – responsibilities,” he said. “When I execute Phase One of the Plan.”

Prowl and Jazz gave each other sceptical glances, but Optimus Prime looked immensely pleased. “Good! Well – no time to waste. Let’s get started!”

….

As Hound hurried back to the courtyard, his intrinsic optimism programming swung into play. The plan would go without hitches – in fact, it was the break they had been looking for. The Decepticons would fall for the trap. They would head _en masse_ to the phoney base. The Autobots would be waiting and would defeat them once and for all.

And then whoever wanted could go back to Cybertron would be free to do so! There’d be no need for Mirage to secretly plot and arrange dangerous liaisons with Decepticons.

_If you don’t think positive things will never go right…_ Hound thought firmly. He very much wanted them to go right.

At the entrance, Hound paused. In the cage, a disgruntled looking Ravage had her back firmly turned. Leaning casually against the rocks, Mirage regarded her. His slender hips jutted out, his superb lean form magnificently displayed. He appeared to be in thought, and his aristocratic, exquisitely sculptured face was set in concentration.

Hound’s spark gave a leap. No matter who Mirage might be, he was so beautiful! Hound could not wait for the business to be over so that he and Mirage could be together.

_Be together?_ Oh my, what was he thinking? What about Mirage’s ‘plans?’ What about the _way he was_? What about Cliffjumper – _and Primus knows how many other mechs who have fallen to his charms, let’s not be deceived about that_ …

Hound thought of Brawn and Gears’ grim faces, a sight surely to be replicated throughout the Ark once everyone knew what had happened with his bond. _His bond!_   Had he abandoned that too? Well no - Trailbreaker _had_ moved Beachcomber in; and surely after today, everyone would be so busy clapping Hound on the back, they wouldn’t care what his love-life consisted of. Would they?

And besides – there was a logical aspect. Mirage was in need of ‘somebody.’ With the right person, he’d settle down; become a proper Autobot. He’d been very forthcoming about how much he hated Megatron and he had joined the good guys, even before the war; hell – he was three quarters of the way there! That _right person_ – surely it had to be Hound?

Mirage looked up. He smiled crookedly, in that delightful way that made small dimples form in the centre of his cheeks. “Ah, the mysterious one returns!”  .

Hound’s spark nearly exploded with sudden joyous pounding as another, now most familiar need rumbled deep in his core. Already, his circuits were tingling hotly, his spike settling into a steady throbbing as it pushed against it’s constraints. “Hey!” he began. “I’ve just…”

Mirage raised an optic ridge. But a small voice piped up inside Hound then, warning him that it might not be _quite_ such a great idea to blurt out all the details of the Autobots’ intentions. For a start, it was most definitely _not_ a good idea for Mirage to know, until the force field was in place, that he would not be accompanying the tactical contingent.

Besides, if by some small chance things _didn’t_ go right or Mirage got away somehow, then this could be their last chance. And Hound was not letting that fate befall without at least one more extremely close encounter with his exquisite Alpha-mech.

So Hound put into instant  effect Phase One of the plan. Loudly describing the location of the ‘new’ rocket base, he jangled the cage keys loudly, all too aware of Mirage watching with a faint smile as the cat blinked at him blankly.

**Meanwhile in Bumblebee’s quarters…**

“I hate him! He’s a no good, double-crossing, stuck up aft and I should have listened, Bee. _I should have listened!”_   Cliffjumper’s whole frame scintillated with angry realisation as, fists clenched, he stared darkly at the wall of Bumblebee’s berth-room.

_Finally…._ Bee thought. _Did you really have to put yourself through all that to come to this conclusion?_   He was sorry for his fellow minibot – he truly was. But Cliffie really had walked right into it.

Besides which, Bee felt a little - miffed. He knew he wasn’t Mirage, but – well – he wasn’t bad; he didn’t get to be on Prime’s podium so much for nothing! Besides which, the trip back from the lake was still very much in his circuitry. It had led him to think that he could at least be _something_ of a substitute. 

Still, there had been Cliffjumper’s angry recantation of what had happened with Mirage earlier. Whilst that really was far too much information for Bee’s liking, it did now seem that Cliffjumper may finally be turning the corner.

Besides, right now, Bee’s intrinsically ‘helpful’ programming dictated that he must reassure the red minibot. “Maybe Raj was just tired?” he ventured.

“That’s what _he_ said!” Cliffjumper cried. “But I knew at the time it was scrap! Then later, Bee - I went round to see if anyone had brought Ravage up for some sunlight - you know how she gets all weird if she’s in the dark too long, _and I saw them!”_

Bee frowned. As far as he was concerned, the cat was always weird and sunlight made little difference. “Saw who?”

“Hound and _him,_ of course!” Cliffjumper’s whole body seemed to clench up, his face darkening.

“They were kissing, Bee - and it wasn’t just a quick peck either. Hound had his tongue _right down Raj’s throat._ He was shoving that _codpiece_ _of his_ – oh yeah, that _thing_ that I’m sure gets stuffed with extra layers of metal – right against Mirage’s leg.”

Bee doubted that about the _stuffing._ Hound’s rumoured dimensions were hardly a secret. He was also sure what Cliffie had seen was absolutely nothing compared to whatever had been happening on that rock earlier when he and Cliffjumper had been down at the lake; given the very titillating sounds – which Bee had no trouble recalling – that had drifted in his direction.

Now, he regretted steering Cliffjumper away from that scene. If only he’d exposed Mirage and Hound, right there and then!  Cliffjumper would never have gone on some absurd ‘rescue’ mission, would never have had to pretend to himself that he wasn’t being so blatantly lied to.  He could have started the process of getting it out of his system. Bee would have been right there to help him!

And that story - really! _Testing out stasis cuffs!_ A service drone would have seen through it.

“He said I was special!” Bee saw to his dismay that Cliffjumper’s angry look had been placed by one of wretchedness. “But I wasn’t – he’s just been using me! But on the other hand, _Hound…”_

His hands balled into fists again.  “I reckon he’s the one who’s really stuffed this up for me!” he burst out. “He’s a treacherous, no good aft, Bee! If I’d known what was in that processor of his that day we first went out hunting down Decepticons, I’d have pointed my canon at him, not Megatron!” 

Bee rolled his optics. If only some of the others knew how much vulnerability lay beneath Cliffjumper’s angry, belligerent exterior! But he was saved from any further need to pour oil on troubled waters by the room com exploding into life. “Bumblebee, Cliffjumper!”

It was Optimus Prime. “Report for duty immediately. Special operations room. Confidential proceedings.”

“Hey!” Bee brightened. At least this recent business hadn’t completely wrecked his career – or Cliffjumper’s. “There you are, Cliffie!” he said. “Prime’s putting you on the special ops team this time too. Isn’t that a good bit of news? And think of Gears and Brawn – they’ll be so much happier.”

But Cliffjumper only sat down on the berth and folded his arms, scowling. “I suppose so,” he growled. “But…” he shook his head sadly. “It just doesn’t really mean anything without Mirage.”

_Oh no…_ But Bee let Cliffjumper think for a moment. Perhaps he’d see sense again?

He didn’t.  “You know - I think perhaps Hound’s just been a distraction, the red minibot said slowly. “He did it deliberately – ‘cos things were going wrong with Breaker. _He’s_ used _Raj!”_ He brightened. _"_ Hound couldn’t _love_ Raj the way I do.  I think I should – _tell Raj how I feel,_ Bee.”

Bee thought that was the worst idea he’d ever heard in his life. But his cheerful nature could not let him say this; besides – Bee thought conspiratorially – perhaps Mirage would give him the big heave-ho, once and for all? It could be just what Cliffjumper needed to bring him to his senses. Then Bee would surely have him to himself.

“Sure,” he said cheerfully.  “If you think that will make things better. But let’s get the briefing first.”

**Meanwhile, in the Courtyard…**

Back in the courtyard, Mirage was at that moment enjoying a complete revival of the desires that had raged earlier. It wasn’t the most convenient state of affairs, given the Alphamech’s schedule; nor did it take a genius to see that whatever had popped into Hound’s processor, he was now behaving oddly.

That alone made it advisable to get out as soon as possible – but all the more exciting that there was just one little matter that very much needed attending to…

Mirage looked appreciatively at Hound’s frame as he crouched down beside the cat’s cage,  jangling the keys while the cat looked on with a mixture of confusion and distaste. Tempting circuitry peeped through  seams around  powerful thighs, and ripples surged along Mirage’s neural pathways. His valve was already slick with lubricant.

An uncomfortable 'blip' nonetheless threaded its way through the Alpha-mech’s circuits. If he was missing the feel of Hound in him so much after a few hours, how in the universe would it be after possible orns of abstinence?  For just a tiny moment, he almost had second thoughts about his entire plan…

_No – I’m not abandoning that. But I intend to sue this one last chance to see that he seriously considers being a part of it..._

Hound stopped taunting the cat and unlocked the door of the cage. Ravagelooked sharply at Mirage. //What is this?// she demanded.

//I have no idea,// Mirage said. He needed to consider ‘this’ now.  The coordinates Hound had provided were wrong – Mirage knew as much from his own discovery of the rocket base on the first day here. It seemed obvious that the Autobots were going to give chase once Ravage left the cage. So - a trap?

Whatever it was, it would undoubtedly be rendered less effective by Hound remaining in this courtyard for as long as possible.  Yes – there was a _strategic_ dimension to that objective.

Besides - a smile spread across the aquiline features – Mirage was sure he could get whatever they were up to out of Hound. That was an excellent prospect.  This time _he_ might use some interrogation techniques; he was sure his own – taught long ago by none other than Soundwave himself - would be a great deal more effective. Fortunately, the activities of the last couple of days had led to him understanding Hound’s body rather _well…_

Now - if only the infernal cat would just _move,_ instead of sitting there like a lump of iron waiting for the smelter.

//Go on!// Mirage hissed.

//I’m not falling for _that_ old trick!// the cat snarled. //I know what this is. There’s Autobots up there. They’re going to jump down and get me!//

// Don’t be ridiculous!// Mirage glanced up at the rock face. It ascended steeply up the mountain, with what looked like very few footholds. // They’re not that agile!// he felt his patience ebbing, //And you’re forgetting – they cant fly.//

Hound chuckled at the cat, a throaty, sexy sound. “Guess you’ve gotten rather fond of us Autobots after all, Ravage…” His attention  strayed, his keen optics settling very definitely on Mirage.

Mirage looked up and their optics met.  He felt the seething desire in the other mech, the tightness of the other’s armour; knew that Hound longed for him again and that whatever else, the tracker would not be leaving here for a few clicks yet. His circuitry gave another great surge of need, his energy field flaring before he could stop it.

Ravage felt it. She growled, the feline optics narrowing.  //I know _exactly_ why you want me gone!// she snapped.

//You’re making a fool of yourself!// Mirage tore his gaze away from Hound. A thought occurred. //Look, Ravage - think of Soundwave – wouldn’t it be nice to see him again?//

The cat grunted – but this seemed to make a difference. Sinking on to her belly, she slunk cautiously out of the cage, glancing around as though indeed she expected a drop-squad of Autobots to suddenly pouce. She hissed loudly at her two captors; then with a few deft leaps scaled the slope, disappearing into the crags above.

//Your attitude has been noted, Alpha-mech!// She howled when out of sight.

Mirage couldn’t have cared less – all that mattered was that he and Hound were now alone.  And there was no time to waste. Reaching for Hound, he pushed him back against the rock, kissing him frantically and relishing the relief that emanated immediately from the other mech, the massive flare of his powerful field that momentarily fritzed his systems like one struck by lightning in a storm.

Hound grunted, grabbing Mirage’s aft and pulling him closer, grinding his codpiece into Mirage’s groin. Mirage reached a down and  grasped it squeezing just hard enough to make the tracker emit a throty growl and flare his energy field wildly again.

_Now, let’s get you really wound up, get me the information and have a last bit of real fun…_

Mirage could hardly wait for what was coming.

…

Hound kissed Mirage back with equal enthusiasm; then paused, gasping for intakes.

“Wait – we should lock the door…” Now it had come to this - it was insane! Any minute now, Optimus Prime could comm him and want to know if Ravage was free, and send him on to set up this hologram. Once the contingent was organised, he and others would likely show up here if the leader couldn’t make contact and there was still no word about Ravage…

In an arm compartment was one of the Ark’s universal locking devices. Hound pulled away and scrabbled to get it out, holding it out shakily and hearing the door click just as Mirage pulled him into another kiss, and hot fluid from the racer’s already open valve trickled over his thigh.

Hound’s mind reeled. _What was he doing?_ Possibly the most important job he, Hound had ever been given awaited his undivided attention - yet Hound was drawn to the racer like a magnet to its opposite pole. Through his lust surged an urgent determination that Mirage would not be leaving – if it was the last thing Hound ever did; and instead of turning his com up to receive Prime’s call he turned if _off._

Mirage pressed against him, breaking the kiss to bite roughly at his throat. Lust overcame Hound. He threw his head back and moaned, steam hissing from his grill, as his hands groped at Mirage’, every touch to the high quality alloys filing him with exquisite new sensations.

The exchange intensified, the ragged hiss of intakes filling the air. Hound's spike slid out, huge and pressurized.  he thrust his hips as Mirage's fingers closed over it, skilful and with perfect touch. The slender hand ran expertly up and down the shaft; _oh but it felt so GOOD_ , and Hound's energy field flared, wildly. Sparks crackled loudly between them.

“Oh yes,” Mirage’s voice was husky and desperate. “I need you… “

Then Mirage was sliding down Hound’s body, fingers and  glossa sending magical sensations along the slats of his grill, through his core and out to every extremity. Hound moaned loudly, shuddering as the racer’s energy field became a relentless surge of hot, flaring need, sparks erupting afresh at another wild flare of his own.

Mirage had his spike again. He played with the shaft, making little noises of pleasure and Hound pressurised to the point he thought he would burst. He thrust his hips again, grabbing Mirage’s head roughly, pulling Mirage’s mouth on to him, groaning as the tip struck the back of the racer’s throat, energy crackling out again as Mirage’s lips closed about his shaft.

As Mirage sucked in the most erotic way Hound had ever known, the tracker melted, the noises he made deteriorating to desperate whimpers. His hips moved compulsively back and forth, the warm rock behind his back was all that kept him upright.

What was it that was happening before? _A brilliant strategy? The ultimate plan to defeat the Decepticons?_ It all faded to a blurr as Miragesucked and fondled.

Lost in pleasure, Hound offlined his optics and wailed his hopeless abandon into the confines of the courtyard. However in control he might have been on the last occasion, Hound felt hopelessly out of it now. All that mattered was Mirage’s mouth, and the overload that was bearing down like a oncoming thunderstorm on a parched field.

“Oh Primus!” Colours whirled around Hound as static hissed in his audios, a prelude to the brink of complete ecstasy. Energon pounded through his conduits. Every pleasure point in his body surged with erotic lust, and he _knew_ he was about to blow…

//I guess we don’t have much time…// Mirage gasped. Releasing the spike, he slid back up, and Hound was aware of the beautiful face swimming before him, flushed with wanton need. Hound was too aroused to wait. Seizing Mirage by the shoulders, he reversed their positions and pushed Mirage back against the wall.  Mirage responded, wrapping his legs around. Hound’s hands closed on the finely crafted aft as he thrust in deeply.

The racer’s valve felt better than ever, slick and tight and warm around Hound's bigger-than-ever spike. The tracker grunted like an Earth animal. He pulled out once, them looked down to watch himself enter Mirage again, loving the sight of himself going in, delighted to find he could last a little longer, powerful in the knowledge that he was about to pound the daylights out of his lover before the impending overload took him gloriously over the edge.

He paused deep inside, nearly driven to the brink again by the deep nodes in Mirage’s valve that clenched against his spike and sent currents traversing its length and all through. But he determined to keep the newly regained but fragile control. He went to pull out one more time…

_…and couldn’t._

There was no pain, but quite simply _Hound could not move._ He was stuck with his spike in Mirage, on the edge of the overload of his life – _and he could not take it any further._

It was only when Hound cried out - part in surprise and part in complete and utter frustration – that he became a ware of fingers on the left side of his neck, gently squeezing the cords. “Sorry sweetspark - special manoeuvre,” Mirage whispered.

Next, his glossa penetrated Hound’s mouth in a lingering, sensuous kiss. Hound'  charged soared, his body aching for release - and he could do nothing, whatsoever, about it.

Trying to vent his extreme frustration, Hound made a muffled noise. Mirage broke from the kiss, his intakes laboured, raspy. He fidgeted, seemingly having trouble keeping still himself. “This won’t kill you,” he said, intensifying the hold slightly, “but you’ll soon be paralysed for a _very_ long time if I don’t let go. Now - my turn - tell me what you’re up to.”

It was shameful, perhaps, but Hound could not even find it in himself to put up a struggle. And whilst part of that was the sheer agony of being so close to satiation, the ache now seizing his whole body, part the reason was very definitely _not_ that.

For Hound knew, then, that he would tell Mirage what was happening, and that it would be a last attempt to get the racer to change his mind. Still, he could manage not to blurt everything out _straight_ away. _Couldn’t he?_

“Mirage…” he began, finding that he could at least talk - but that was about all. Even that faltered as the pain of non-satiation took hold; it was as though a vice held his body and squeezed his very core. All that emerged was a heavy groan.

“Just talk, Hound - then we can get going again. You know this time I know I’m going to outlast you.” Mirage's optics were like bright blue jewels, his voice soft but firm like smooth metal. Hound's spark gave a pang. he could not help it - or his systems from heaving again with longing.

“I can’t get out of that grip, can I?” Hound gasped.

“Nope. It’s a special Trion manoeuvre. I have most of your motor pathways under my control. I learned quite a lot about you when we cabled before.”

“How come you didn’t _use_ it before?”

“That time you caught me unawares. This time – it’s _my_ show!”

“When Prime and Prowl come back they’ll be in here…” Hound panted.

“And I’ll activate the disruptor. They’ll think we’re already chasing Ravage.”

“If I tell you will you promise not to go?”

“Maybe....” And Hound thought he read – _really was sure he read_ – something in the Alphamech’s voice that had not been there before.

Hound took deep intakes. _What difference does it make – he’s staying here anyway,_ his logic circuits dictated. Hey yes! Why had Hound not thought of that before? He did have the last laugh after all…

“I’m making a hologram to fool the Decepticons,” he said. “Of a rocket base. Now – please Mirage...”

“Ahh…” Mirage said. “So that’s it!” He smiled, a delightful impish expression. “I never thought that a hologram that huge was possible! But then, size is hardly something with which you have issue, is it now Hound?”

…………

Mirage released his grip. _Oh thank Primus this tracker gave in so easily, I don’t think_ I _could have lasted any longer…_

Bracing his back against the rock, Mirage wrapped around Hound tightly, his body scintillating with pleasure as excess energy gathered during Hound’s immobilisation cascaded over him in a flurry of static. For an awful moment Mirage was afraid Hound would exercise some hitherto unseen control and punish him...

But no – the tracker was off again, doing what he did best, pounding hard, filling Mirage completely as his valve nodes and sensor ring sent pleasure rushing through every circuit.

And it was glorious! Deep inside, components shifted  to accommodate Hound better, as Mirage’s sensitive ceiling node erupted in a rush of lubricant. Now, he wanted to get there. As Hound pumped harder, Mirage grasped the green helm. His other hand went to Hound’s grill, fingers twisting between the slats. Ozone scented steam hissed out, fogging his nosecone as the clanging  of their union echoed around the courtyard.

Then Hound’s hands were on his nosecone, his fingers plucking, scritching at the glass as he drove his spike in and out. Mirage watched as the green face looked down, a mixture of agony and ecstasy at the sight of the shaft going in. “That’s it – fuck me hard, Hound…” his voice came out in a raspy whine as he opened himself wider.

Venting raggedly, Hound raised his head. Their optics met, the fierce desire that exploded between making the tracker’s expression one of painful need. He was right on the edge again - and so was Mirage. A few more thrusts and they would both cave in and let go.

Then Mirage’s highly tuned audios heard, at the edge of his senses, a noise outside the door. “I’m sure Hound said it was this courtyard – a key, Prowl?”

“I – uh – don’t have one, Sir…”

“Well get one. And bring Sunstreaker while you’re about it – I can’t understand why this is taking Hound so long…"

The tracker hesitated - just slightly. Damn Optimus Prime! //Don’t stop!// Mirage panted. //I can’t do without this – seriously…// and he opened his thighs even wider, so Hound could get in even further.

//Neither can I!// Hound moaned, continuing in earnest. //Even though I oughtta teach you a lesson for what you just did!//

//Plenty of time for lessons, Hound. I want you with me on Cybertron…//

//I’m not going anywhere – and believe me, neither are you…//

For a fleeting moment, Mirage felt a the need to consider this further - but it swept away like dust in a high wind. Then came knocking at the door, a voice that called: _Hound, Mirage – is that you_ …? and the need for a conclusion was no longer an option.

//Hurry!//Mirage rasped, sinking his fingers into Hound’s shoulders, hammering his heels against his back as more lubricant gushed over Hound’s spike. //Fuck like your life depended on it, Hound, because quite apart from them out there, I – really - have – to – come…//

…………

So did Hound. Badly - and quite apart from the need to attend to the Autobots outside the door. Widening his thighs, he manoeuvred deeper, then plunged in a few last times. The last stages to overload ascended like a gathering storm; and then Hound was whimpering at the crest, almost wanting at the last moment to preserve the ecstatic moment. But just as he vaguely heard Prowl say he’d _found a key,_ Hound just had to let go.

Scalding fluid shot into Mirage. Hound cried out as energy crackled maniacally, bouncing off the rocks and enveloping them in a spider-web of sprackling blue. Mirage overloaded just after, his body shuddering mightily as his valve clenched around Hound’s gushing spike. Around them, the very courtyard seemed to shudder, as heavy ozone scent punched the air like rocks scorched by a fusion canon.

Mirage collapsed on to Hound, gasping in the throws of overload as Hound struggled to keep his senses through the powerful surges. But then came the sound of a key turning in a lock – and the door began to open. Prime entered, accompanied by Prowl and Sunstreaker. Hound felt the strange bubble flow over his frame and knew that - just in time - Mirage had activated the shield. 

The air almost fritzed with the residues of interface and overload. Sunstreaker took a look around; his mouth widened in a smirk and he coughed, putting his hand over his mouth. Meanwhile Prowl looked anything but amused; he glanced around and upward, as though expecting to see his suspects clinging to the rocks above.

But Optimus Prime seemed not to notice anything amiss. Great leader that he was, he never had appeared greatly appraised of some of the rather more romantic aspects of Autobot life. Hound had always thought that it must have been  the long-term devition to Elita One, the lack of need to consider such things himself; brought about – Hound thought guiltily – by the _as-should-be_ monogamy of their bond.

The leader’s face turned ashen. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I don’t think either Hound or Mirage could have made it up that rockface. Hound’s plan must have gone wrong. I fear Ravage has taken them prisoner!”

…

Mirage could not remember anything so funny. He laughed aloud on comm as they cleaned up under cover of the invisibility shield. He moved them deftly out of the way when Prowl approached their spot, observing that the enforcer’s hand twitched - as though just dying to pull out a weapon and fire at the quarry he knew were there somewhere.

But Mirage knew Prowl wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – do that, and there was nothing more entertaining than the sight of his frustrations.

Meanwhile Prime fussed and bothered, examining the cliff face and Sunstreaker pointed to claw marks on one of the jutting out rocks. “Indeed…” Prime nodded. “Get up there, Sunstreaker. See if you can find them. And don’t do anything on your own. We are fortunate that all else is in readiness.”

It seemed the golden twin had come prepared for a climb. Retrieving a grappling hook from his arm compartment, he fired it into the upper reaches of the rocks and sprang away up the ensuing rope. He was almost as agile as Ravage.

//Impressive …//said Mirage wickedly, eyeing the very good view of the golden aft ascending up the cliff. //Maybe he’s worth my attention after all, Hound?//

But Hound didn’t take the bait – and one look at the other mech’s face as he finished his ablutions told Mirage that, his passion spent, the other mech was now a lot less amused;  in fact, a solemnity had come on to the tracker’s features. He looked officious, important, a true upholder of the values that underpinned the very foundations of the  Autobot Cause – and extremely remorseful.

Mirage felt a twinge of frustration. Autobot loyalty! How tiresome to be continually dogged by its unwavering presence! Still, as Mirage had just proved, this was far from insurmountable. More progress could definitely be made. He would get this mech – this _superb_ mech who had set his valve on fire once again – to Cybertron yet.

Meanwhile Prime was looking anxiously up the cliff. “Ravage definitely went this way!” Sunstreaker called down.

We’ll meet you on top of the Ark,” Prime called up. “Come – Prowl…” and they were gone, the second in command looking knowingly over his shoulder with a reproachful glare.

……..

As soon as they had left, Mirage de-activated the shield and collapsed with laughter, howling as he thumped the edge of the cliff face. “You’re despicable!” Hound hissed as adjusted his codpiece, wiping away the last drops of fluid before stuffing the cloth back in his arm.

“Now if I recall - you said that before?”

“I meant it.” Hound felt the last vestiges of the passion they’d just shared replaced with an almost overwhelming need for duty. 

“Me?” Mirage wore a teasing expression. “What about you? I didn’t exactly see you resisting mightily!”

The more the afterglow was diminishing, the more appalled and dismayed Hound became at his behaviour. He had deliberately misled his Prime! And, it seemed, he couldn’t even carry out his own plan.  It was indeed, despicable!    

But no – Prime had said that all else was in place. All that was needed was Hound’s input. Better still, Mirage’s fate was sealed.

“I need to go after Optimus,” Hound said tartly.  “There’s a strategy – and I’m a key element.”

Mirage sighed. The hint of a smile ghosted over his features.  “Very well. You know, of course, that it’s not going to succeed? And that I’m going to be out of here before you’ve even set optics on your Prime?”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong…” and Hound could not stop himself from smiling a most triumphant smile.

With a last look at his lover, Hound ducked out before Mirage – or his own body - could betray him again.


End file.
